Rags to Riches
by Ariel Riddle
Summary: Hermione does so love the tourneys. It gives her a brief reprieve from the chores and mundane life of a lowly chambermaid. Little does she know that the arrival of visitors from the east will change her life drastically. She could never have imagined that the rumors surrounding Wiltshire are true, and magic truly does exist. She doesn't know, but she will soon learn. Dark Fairytale
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Oh em to the gee. Something crazy happened. Like, Tomione Fanfics had their FIRST EVER Tomione Fest 2017, y'all, and I totally got to participate with some AWESOME writers. Siriusly, it is _a pleasure and a half_ to write in the same comp with Ninjafairy86 (who SLAY'D and won overall), Maloreiy (whose story legit left me feeling so many feelings, like I just sat in a paralyzed stupor and really I need to read it again when she posts because the intricacies and complexities, MAN! #MindBlown), SaintDionysis (who wrote tomione for the first time ever and BEASTED IT like omgosh she has their dynamic so good!) but that's not all because sharkdiver1981, crochetaway, Lilbit903, Arendora, summersaults16, Kaarina_Riddle (my sis, ayy), Geekmom13, and VinoAmore all wrote bomb stories and y'all should totes check them out!  
 _Anyway_ , this little dark-ish fairytale that my lush of a muse totally had free rein over, placed in a couple of categories** **—** **Aesthetically on Point (Best Cover - Joint Winner), Where Dwell the Cunning (Favorite Tom - Runner-up), and Out of This World (Best AU - Runner-up). I'm super stoked and ty to those who voted!  
**

 **Written for the prompt:** **The Duke of Salazar arrives to Ballycastle to meet with the King after his success at the tourney. King Greengrass has a generous offer for the young Duke before he returns to Wiltshire Castle. A simple chambermaid, Hermione can watch the mysterious and handsome Lord Riddle freely from the shadows. He won't notice her—right? He shouldn't as he searches for a maiden to wed, but _he does_.**

 **Beta Love to NikkiB and Kreeblim Sabs! Also, a huge thanks to LeanaM for hosting the fest. She is a cross between God and Santa and IT IS KNOWN.**

 **Disclaimer: _All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing._**

 **~Art and aesthetics for this story can be found on my Pinterest - arielriddlefanfiction~**

 **Warnings/Triggers: Dark fairytale, OOC-ness a-plenty and idgaf, manipulative relationship, possessive!Tom, naive!Hermione, some very near non-con, dub-con enjoyed by both parties, probably some more but I just can't remember atm as drunk!me is the brains behind this story so I'll just say dark and you've been warned? I've been embracing my kinks and I don't even care (Pans knows!). No more sweetness! *averts eyes shiftily* There may be sweetness. Slightly unpredictable but if you do stick around I hope you enjoy the ride!**

* * *

 **~oOo*oOo~**

There were inherent benefits when it came to hosting tournaments at Ballycastle.

The typically sleepy kingdom and quiet castle would morph into a place that was alive and bustling with people from all over the world in a matter of days. It was almost as if an enchantment had been lifted and the dazed occupants of the kingdom had finally awoke from their slumber. Hermione's usual stringent routine of chores were thrown to the wayside in favor of making her available to the many guests the castle opened its doors to. One of the nicest perks was the wonderful happenstance that she was actually permitted to attend the festivities. There was an entire tier in the jousting circuit dedicated to off-duty servants. Which lead to the main reason why Hermione looked forward to tournament weeks.

She loved to people watch.

With so many foreigners arriving from distant lands - some she'd never heard of and some she had - she was afforded the privilege of watching people mill about to her heart's content. No one paid any mind to a lowly chambermaid.

Of course there were the weeks of preparation that went into readying the castle for the tournament. Hermione scrubbed and cleaned the vast stone floors until her hands were raw and reddened. The bucketfuls of water she'd brought from the river alone were more than she usually handled in a month, to say nothing of the amount she brought when the tournament guests arrived and opted for nightly baths. It was enough to busy a chambermaid from dusk until dawn. She'd even been plucked from her duties to help the manservants pick weeds and trim the lawn surrounding the moat. It had all been quite labor intensive. The savory smells from the kitchens wafting through the castle and assaulting her empty stomach were often torturous, but the end product of having the castle ready to host the games was always worth it.

Tournaments meant a leisurely reprieve from the strict Head Maid, and the chance to spend her pieces of copper on trinkets the caravans brought in or sweets from the stands. Tournaments meant gossip and intrigue more juicy than any of the stories she heard the other maids tell on a regular basis.

And being a chambermaid, she was privy to all sorts of gossip.

Probably the biggest thing to happen at Ballycastle, was the arrival of Prince Draco, Sir Theodore, and the Duke of Salazar. The royal envoy from the neighboring Castle of Wiltshire were all anyone wanted to talk about. Wiltshire was so close to Ballycastle - albeit the journey was treacherous and seldom made - but it was a mysterious place no one knew very much about. King Lucius was said to never leave his castle, let alone open the doors of his kingdom to visitors. No one knew whether or not to attribute it to the danger in such a journey, or if Wiltshire harbored closely kept secrets. The townspeople of Ballycastle were prone to believe the latter.

Some said the kingdom was home to magical beings. Hermione had heard werewolves and vampires suggested by some, but more often the rumor that surfaced was that it was home to a secret society of witches and wizards who practiced magic openly throughout the kingdom.

It did not matter to King Charles. The practical king cared not about rumors and stories, he cared about the rising threat in the north which was rumored to be amassing an army. The king desired to unite with his neighboring allies, despite the sordid tales he heard. He spread the word far and wide and made sure their royal neighbors were invited personally to the grandest tournament Hermione had ever remembered seeing.

She had only caught glimpses of the three foreigners from afar, but the whispers surrounding them were easy to hear wherever she went. Prince Draco had the fairest hair she'd ever seen in her life—not the golden color most in her kingdom boasted of, but a hair so light it was nearly white. Sir Theodore Nott had hair the same color as hers. It was not so different from what she saw on a daily basis, and truly, he could have been a citizen of Ballycastle. The Duke of Salazar was quite different than any sort of man she was used to seeing. His hair was as black as a raven's wings, and his skin kissed by the sun. She could not make out their faces, but word spread that they were handsome to behold. When the latter two played in the tourney with the prince watching imperiously from the sidelines, they ruthlessly swept through their competitors until they were the only two left standing.

Truly, Hermione had never seen a more impressive display at any games. The final jousting between Sir Theodore and the Duke of Salazar was the most exciting of the matches. They were very evenly matched, but in the end, the Duke of Salazar took the handsome purse for first place.

It was probably what prompted King Charles to make such a generous offer when the games concluded and the victors were invited to the feasts. "In addition to His Grace, the Duke of Salazar's handsome winnings," the beady eyed king surveyed the attendants in the stands before glancing at the dark-haired man in question, "I will also offer any maiden of your choice from the kingdom of Ballycastle in marriage."

Sounds of surprise riddled through the crowd. The king had named _any maiden_ in the kingdom, which of course meant his daughters, the Greengrass princesses. The offer was a lavish one, because his two daughters would probably be expected to marry a prince at equal station to themselves, but the king had said _any_ and that meant even his precious princesses may be up for consideration. Hermione may be a chambermaid, but she understood the king's reasoning: a union between Ballycastle and Wiltshire would be advantageous to his kingdom, especially when his enemies in the north came marching. What was more, the king was so desperate for the union, he would even offer a princess to a duke in order to secure it, instead of holding out for better courtships. He had the duke cornered, because surely King Lucius would want the royal to take such an offer and in so doing, secure the relationships between the two kingdoms.

It was all very fantastical, and along with the rest of the kingdom, Hermione couldn't wait to hear the Duke's decision. Tonight would be the much prepared for feast, and it would be her opportunity to better examine the newcomers. Excitement thrummed through her veins—she did so _love_ the tourneys.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione went about her daily chores in a rush, faster than she wanted the Head Maid to know she was capable of. She was now on Princess Astoria's room - a castle in of itself - and she stumbled over her own feet as she attempted to navigate through the maze of furniture with a stack of goose-down pillows in her arms.

In her typical, clumsy fashion, she tripped and fell on floor, with the pillows flying every which way. She counted herself fortunate to be on the thick, plush rug that spanned half of the room as she did so. She dragged herself from the floor and rubbed her chin. "That's sure to leave a bruise," she muttered.

From this vantage point, she discovered the hearth had a layer of soot on the fireside she'd need to scrub quite fervently. She silently cursed Cecilia, who had the assignment of the princess' room the prior week. "Lazy girl."

She straightened and set about plucking the pillows from the rug, debating whether or not she should go all the way down to the laundry chamber and collect new ones. She probably should, regrettably. Hermione had just gathered the last one when a sound from the door startled her.

She froze when she heard voices and the unmistakable creak of the door opening.

Princess Astoria wasn't alone, and Hermione should probably excuse herself, but then she saw a flash of white-blond hair, and her limbs froze up all over again.

"Is this part of the tour?" The confident voice drawled.

"A special _extended tour,_ " came the saucy reply.

Hermione's eyes scanned the room before landing on the ornately decorated dressing screen. She darted behind it as the footsteps came closer.

"I do hope you like what you see," Princess Astoria called in a voice so sickly sweet, Hermione wondered if it was really Astoria speaking after all. "You'll find we can be," she heard the sound of fabric rustling, "very _accommodating_ at Ballycastle."

Hermione couldn't help herself, she peeked from behind the screen and her mouth fell open when she saw Prince Draco advancing on the princess with all the keen attention of a dangerous animal. Why were the princess and the prince together without an escort? The king would be furious. Hermione knew she should make herself known, but more than ever she felt dread at the idea of moving a single muscle. She peered up at the prince who was walking the princess into the end of her large canopied bed. He was really quite beautiful, in a predatory sort of way. She'd never seen a man she would call beautiful. He was smiling, only his smile seemed to be rather dark—wicked, even. Why did the princess not see the potential threat?

"I'm glad to hear our neighbors are so _friendly_." The prince set his lips in a confident line as his eyes roved over her body.

"Show me a magic trick, won't you?" The princess' voice was distinctly whiny. "I know you know how. I've heard the tales."

The prince rolled his eyes before muttering, " _Incendio,"_ and Hermione stared anew when a small fire danced in the prince's hands, casting shadows on his face that made him look all the more sinister. Hermione would not have believed such a thing were possible. The rumors surrounding Wiltshire flickered over her brain. Perhaps there was some truth to the gossip.

"Oh!" The princess clapped as if watching a show. "Lovely. Word was true about your many tricks and talents."

"I'd be happy to show you some of my better tricks if you like?"

The princess nodded and let out a giggle of delight. The prince anchored his hands over the princess' hips, and then Hermione had to duck around the dressing screen again. He'd pulled up the princess' dress— _well past_ her ankles! What on earth did he intend to do? It was completely _improper._ Hermione's cheeks flamed magenta when she heard the sound of lips puckering and kissing over skin. She paled when she heard the princess let out a low moan from her throat.

Oh dear.

Hermione really mucked up now.

The princess would order her death if Hermione were discovered.

She was forced to hold as still as she could and try and make sense of the odd sounds the princess was making. She heard more clothing shift, and Hermione could not help but gnaw nervously on her lip. The prince let out a groan followed by a mewl from the princess, and Hermione started worrying for them both. What were they doing? Why wasn't somebody coming to save Hermione from this ghastly situation she found herself in? The sounds leaving the princess' throat picked up in tempo and then Hermione grew truly alarmed.

The prince was killing the princess.

It was happening right behind this dressing screen and Hermione could do nothing about it. Adrenaline pounding at her temples, she chanced another glance. The prince's face was twisted in agony, and he was snapping his hips into the princess. The princess had wrapped her legs around his waist and arched up her back as she continued the steady stream of moans. Hermione wished to plug out the sound. It was dreadful! She supposed that's how it sounded when you were being murdered, but _still_. She ducked back behind the screen and gathered her bearings. She needed to act, the princess was in trouble! Hermione's eyes fell on a chest she didn't dare open, the rod holding the curtains, and finally a poker sitting on the fireplace. Her fingers itched, did she grab for it and attempt to take the murderous prince by surprise? She couldn't live with herself if she did nothing during a murder!

"Yes, my Prince," came Princess Astoria's pleading voice. " _Harder_."

Hermione swallowed convulsively.

Her fingers paused over the poker. Did Princess Astoria require her help or not? The whole situation was maddening. The distinct sound of skin slapping against skin at an alarming rate caused her head to throb with questions. When the Prince let out a growl that didn't sound quite human, Hermione curled herself in a ball, refusing to look and afraid of what she might see.

Then blood curdling silence.

He'd killed her.

She heard the prince pulling up his trousers.

Hermione had bore witness to murder and done nothing. Guilt seared through her, only to be shattered a second later by impossible hope.

"My Prince?"

Hermione shot up at the sound of Princess Astoria's voice.

"Yes, Pet?"

"I hope when you return to your kingdom, you'll remember me, and the accommodations _I can provide_."

A dark chuckle. "Oh darling, you seem a bit confused: I get accommodations _wherever_ I go."

Hermione risked a peek, and saw the prince turn briskly away before walking to the door. The stunned and disheveled princess looked lost for words as she stared after his retreating form. She sat for a good five minutes just looking at the door, making Hermione think she'd never leave, but she eventually got up and adjusted her dress before exiting out the same way.

Now it was Hermione's turn to stare at the door in confusion. She wracked her brain, but was unable to come up with a suitable explanation for what she saw. Her limbs felt like they were made of stone as she forced herself to her feet, hovering stiffly. The only source of comfort she could draw on was the fact that at least the princess hadn't died.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

"Hilda…" Hermione trailed off uncertainly as she folded the pillow cases.

"What is it, girl?" The robust woman didn't pause to look up as she furiously scrubbed the linen in her bucket.

"In the castle today...I saw a man and a woman. They weren't with an escort and they were…" Hermione bit her lip. "Well, that is to say, their clothing wasn't on quite right and they were…" She heard the scrubbing stop and felt the heat of Hilda's gaze. She averted her eyes. "They were moving rather oddly and making the strangest sounds...well...what were they doing?"

"You saw a husband and wife coupling?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure if they were married, exactly." She pulled her eyes to face Hilda's hard stare.

"What you saw was coupling." Hilda looked back down at her work.

Frustrated, Hermione gripped the hem of her apron. "And what exactly is coupling?"

"It's when a man sticks his sword, so to speak, in between his woman's legs and pummels her."

Hermione's eyes widened to saucers. "Whatever for?"

"To produce heirs, of course. It's the only way to do it."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

Hilda gave a careless nod. "Mhm. It's best to just pull up your skirts, spread your legs, and grip the bed post until it's over. Nasty business making heirs is. The men like it well enough though."

"The men like to poke into their wives?"

"It's pleasant for them, I suppose."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. Hilda's answers only made her think of a dozen more questions, chief among them, why would the princess allow the prince to do that to her, when they were not married or producing heirs? None of it made any sense. Did Princess Astoria hope to make the prince happy by letting him do something he felt was pleasant in order that he might thank her and marry her later? Hermione shuddered. Who would want to get married when that's what there was to look forward to?

 **~oOo*oOo~**

It had been easy to switch places with a kitchen maid so that she might serve dishes at the feast. The maid in question was happy to get the night off, and Hermione was happy to get her mind on anything else but the bizarre act she had witnessed earlier that day.

The royals at the long table paid her no mind as she slipped in and out to take and collect dishes. After each course, Hermione would slink back into the shadows and watch the occupants as they enjoyed their lavish meal.

She stifled a grimace when she saw Prince Draco, sitting as bold as brass in a position of honor by the king. Princess Astoria sat quietly beside her sister, Princess Daphne, sulking over her food, and looking rather put out at being poked just a few hours before, if Hermione had any guess. She kept her eye on the tankards of ale to make sure they didn't go low as she tried to tune into the table talk. Her eyes continued to wander during the lively discussion.

Sir Theodore did not appear to be enjoying himself. He was looking at the table occupants like someone of a higher station would look to her, as if they were beneath him. He did not possess the same highborn beauty as his wicked prince, but he was lovely just the same, and Hermione again marveled at how men could be so beautiful. She always thought them as hairy, fat, and stinking of ale, for the most part. His deep brown eyes were sharp and seemed to catch everything. She looked away, afraid he may feel her watching him.

Next to Sir Theodore was the man of the hour—the Duke of Salazar. If she thought the other two men had been handsome, the duke was on another level entirely. Her stomach tightened nervously. The Duke of Salazar was breath-stealingly handsome with golden skin that served to highlight hair the color of a moonless night. His chin was sharp and chiseled, his cheekbones were high with a nose so straight, it reminded Hermione of the Greek statues in the castle gardens. Perfectly shaped cupid-bow lips were pressed into a petulant line. When he did speak, his voice was unbearably rich. He was predatory, his presence dominating and commanding respect. Hermione found him fascinating. Eloquent brows rested above blue eyes so dark they may as well have been depthless. They were so piercing, Hermione suspected they would skewer her to her very soul. She may have stared at him all evening, just to wonder at the secrets behind those sapphire eyes, but then she realized with sudden clarity—those eyes were studying _her_!

Something hot and red spread and burst across her skin as if she'd been burned, and she quickly ducked.

Bells of alarm rang off in her head—why had a nobleman made eye contact with her? Did he require his tankard to be refilled? She was standing a decent distance from the table, in the shadows where she usually hid, but he had spotted her anyway. To have been noticed was so overwhelmingly disconcerting, she could scarcely gather her bearings.

"Duke," she heard King Charles bark out. "Have you thought about my proposal? Is there any maiden in my kingdom that catches your fancy? You may have your pick."

Murmurs from the surrounding tables produced a low humming in the court.

Hermione wanted to glance up and see the reactions for herself, but she was frozen with her head down against the wall, still reeling from the intensity of the duke's gaze.

"It's a generous offer," she heard Prince Draco say. "Thomas needs to settle down most expediently." The prince chuckled at some private joke.

 _Thomas,_ Hermione mulled the name over in her head. Something about even thinking a royal's name instead of their proper title felt decidedly wicked.

"Quite generous, Your Grace," the rich, melodious voice of the duke agreed. "I think it may be beneficial for myself and my kingdom to accept your offer."

She heard the sound of girls giggling, and imagined the duke to flash the princesses a breath-dazzling smile. How did he look like when he smiled? Lured by curiosity, she looked up and found that he was not smiling at all. Since observing the newcomers, the only one of the foreigners she'd seen smile had been Prince Draco, and that was more of a smirk, if anything.

"I most certainly agree." The king stroked his large chin. "Our two kingdoms need to revisit our travel policies and open the doors of friendship. With our enemies gathering in the north, we need to come together now more than ever."

Hermione watched the scene from below long lashes as she attempted to shutter her gaze, but the duke blessedly did not look her way again. When would the duke agree to take Princess Daphne as his bride? She was sure the wedding would be the stuff of dreams. She grimaced when she considered what the princess would be expected to go through upon her nuptials, and wondered if she even knew what was in store for her. Of course, if her younger sister knew and already engaged in the horrifying practice, chances were Princess Daphne knew as well. Hermione smirked to herself. She'd rather die an old maid than ever take a husband of any of the men who worked at Court. She thought about the golden-haired man who often offered to carry her buckets of water to and from the moat when she saw him. Cormac was handsome to be sure, but she would never elect to put herself through such discomfort at his hands. Children would not be in the picture for her, even if Cormac struck her as the type to be gentle, unlike what she suspected the Wiltshire royals capable of.

"I believe I shall take you up on your generous offer." Something imperceptible gleamed in the Duke of Salazar's eyes.

Gasps of intrigue permeated the ensuing silence. Hermione was not surprised the duke had decided to take the king up on his offer. It was a very favorable position for someone of his rank - though still noble - to wed a princess.

"And who will the lucky lady be?" King Charles gave a rare smile, his schemes on the verge of seeing fruition. "Who in the kingdom has struck your fancy?"

Princess Daphne sat up straight, a demure expression adorning her face, looking ever the delicate high-born. She seemed to know what was coming at this point.

"Sadly." The duke sat back in his chair. "I do not know her name."

Hermione's brows drew together in confusion.

The King chuckled as if sharing a joke. "No? Inform me of her description and I shall have her sent for straight away."

The king did not appear to believe the duke really had cast his eye on a no-name girl, but played along regardless.

"No need, Your Grace." The duke was the picture of ease as his compatriots exchanged mischievous looks with him. "The lady in question is already in the room, fortunately."

King Charles smiled widely, his stance haughty and confident. "By all means, point her out to us. I believe everyone in the court would like to know who the new Duchess of Salazar will soon be."

The duke gave a sure nod. "Of course, Majesty." His eyes drew to Hermione's side of the room. He stood from his seat and pointed in her direction. "Her."

All eyes drew to where Hermione stood, and just as curious as everyone else, she turned around to see who the duke had singled out, but was met only by a stone wall. She frowned, working her brain frenetically to figure out what exactly the duke had meant if there was no one behind her.

Silence.

Hermione turned back around and found that all eyes were focused squarely on her. Heat crept up her neck. Even the king and both princesses were looking at her, and she didn't think in all her years at the castle that they had ever addressed her directly, nor graced her with their attention. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Puzzled, she unwillingly brought her eyes up again to face the duke. It was hard to discern, but she thought she saw amusement lingering in his eyes.

Yes.

He was looking at her - pointing at her - beyond a shadow of a doubt.

There was a sudden roil in her stomach.

Awkward and forced chuckling interrupted the silence. "Truly?" the king queried. "Duke, tell me, do you jest?"

"I never jest," came the cool reply.

Hermione wanted to shrink away from his stare. Dizziness surged in her head and she suddenly felt very unbalanced. What did the duke mean by pulling her into a jest of this magnitude? She would never be forgiven. More likely, she would be ruined. This would be seen as a slight to the royals, no matter the teasing nature. Was this even happening?

"You offered me the maiden of my choosing, and I have made my decision."

Prince Draco let out a raucous laugh.

King Charles turned beet red. "You mean to make a fool out of me?" He slammed his hands down on the table. "Take my kind offer and snub me with it? If you jest, best to come clean now."

Something perilous flashed over the duke's eyes. "I already told you: _I do not jest._ " The duke did not seem concerned in the least over the anger he incited. His expression of thinly veiled smug satisfaction caused Hermione to believe the duke was experiencing feelings of schadenfreude, not remorse. "You told me _any maiden_ , and I have made my selection. Now what is the problem? Do the men of Ballycastle have a habit of going back on their word?"

"Everyone leave!" the king commanded, voice dangerously low.

The sound of chairs scraping and dresses rustling as the distinguished members of Court were dismissed caused Hermione's ears to buzz. Locating her lost control, she forced her limbs to move and follow the crowd.

"Not you," the king barked, "you stupid girl!"

Hermione froze.

 _Oh dear._

She wondered in vain if she could possibly be dreaming? Surely this sort of thing did not take place in reality? Perhaps she would wake up any moment. Unwilling to be mortified in her own dream, she faced the king, his daughters, and the foreigners, jutting her chin out with more pride than she felt.

"Your Majesty." She curtseyed, remembering her manners when a royal addressed her.

He ignored her. "What spell have you cast on this man to make him commit to such a rash decision? What hexes and jinxes have you conjured? Tell me true, girl!"

Hermione stammered, trying to make sense of his words. What sort of question was he asking? She hadn't done anything!

The duke saved her from answering.

"Nothing at all," he drawled loftily. "I value certain things in a potential wife, _certain rarities,_ and this lady possesses them."

Princess Daphne gasped in outrage, then shot daggers at Hermione. Mirroring her sister, Princess Astoria pegged Hermione with a menacing look, filled with the promise of retribution.

"What certain things?" the king spat cruelly. "Surely a common wench doesn't measure up to a princess with generations of royal blood flowing through her veins!"

The duke merely inclined his head. "I grow quite bored of this. Will you be revoking your offer then?"

The king's face grew impossibly redder. "No! If you are stupid enough to electively choose such a disgraceful match, I'm sure you'll be well-suited." King Charles turned and barked at Hermione. "Girl! Come here at once."

 _A dream,_ she reminded herself. _This is nothing but a dream or maybe a vision. May as well see how it plays out!_ She forced her legs steady as she made her way to the royal table. She stopped just before the king, acutely aware of the duke's stare to her side, along with the attention of his foreboding accomplices. It was _unnerving_!

"Your Grace?"

His eyes roved over her as if measuring her strengths and weaknesses and finding her lacking. "This _man_ has named you as his Intended."

Hermione couldn't help but chance a glance at the rather imposing figure. She found no comfort in his calculating gaze. She turned back to the king and gave a stiff nod, unsure of what to say to such a preposterous statement.

"He has requested your hand in marriage, and I am inclined to give it."

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Super stoked about the reception for this story so far! Yes, Hermione is impossibly and innocent and wholly ignorant to the wiles of men. How can this be? *averts eyes shiftily* She should definitely be kept _far away_ from the Duke... like miles and miles away. Hopefully someone intervenes before she's swept away from the only home she's ever known! But what would be the fun in that? *cackles evilly* Let's see what _dear Thomas_ is up to... if he drops us any hints to speak of. Knowing him, I'm sure he won't make it easy to find out. Happy reading Xx**

 **Beta love to NikkiB and Kreeblim Sabs**

 **Shout out to followers, favorite-ers, and reviewers:** **Ikuni Hattori, fantasy4luvr, trinnyboppers, catalina05, annaea3077, SereniteRose, Arendora, ii-V-I, Gone With The Books, , closemind, Hermione Lyra Malfoy-Riddle, and the guests!**

* * *

 **~oOo*oOo~**

The rest of the evening passed in a perpetual blur.

Hermione vaguely recalled seeing friends she spoke to everyday, servants like herself, but they were gawking at her as if she were a dragon fresh out of a cave. Princess Daphne had declared her an conniving whore and ordered Hermione out of her sight, but the duke had intervened on her behalf. He had requested proper rooms be delegated to Hermione until they could leave in the morning. The king had argued the pair should be married before their departure, and then the quarreling had commenced.

It was unclear what the final decision was, as the princess was still screaming for Hermione to go, and someone finally came to escort her to what would be her rooms for the night. She could barely make out the vicious words being spewed back and forth above the hammering of her own heartbeat. The maidservant that led her to a room located on the fourth floor didn't say a word to Hermione, but she could feel the heat of her accusatory gaze the entire walk up the stairs.

The stunned chambermaid was left alone in the vast guest quarters, in a room that she herself had cleaned the day prior.

It was all very surreal.

Hermione sat herself rigidly in a chair and stared straight ahead at the fireless hearth no one had bothered lighting. A maelstrom of panic churned dark and insidious in her chest, only held at bay by her own disbelief. Had she imagined things? Had she experienced another...episode? Was she really here in the guest quarters, sitting by herself, and staring into the fireplace? She gripped the hem of her apron harshly until her knuckles were white, and slowly rocked back and forth.

There was no way this had happened. It had to be some vivid dream she had yet to wake up from. Her highly overactive imagination was on overdrive tonight. None of what she witnessed translated to the reality she knew. There was no way a lord from the neighboring realm would select a commoner to wed. As she stared at the ash in the fireplace, embers began glowing red. Her stare was fixated on them and the more she watched the hotter they grew, until they eventually snapped into bright orange flames.

 _See,_ she consoled herself. _That would not have happened if I were really awake. One cannot simply will a fire into being._ But everything felt very real. Her nails as they bit into the soft flesh of her hand, her apron pulling against her abdomen as she rocked, the heat from the recently appearing flames. She wasn't sure how long she sat there staring, rocking herself back and forth. If she stopped, perhaps she would be unable to keep the madness from descending, and so she continued steadfast.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before a knock jolted her attention to the door.

Hermione broke eye contact with the fire but didn't stop rocking in her seat as she glanced at the door. What was she to do—get up and answer it? Bid the person to enter? She didn't fancy giving into anymore of these strange visions, so she ignored the persistent knocking.

Finally, the intruder decided to let themselves in.

"Madam," came the crisp voice. His Grace, the Duke of Salazar inexplicably strode across the room and came to stand in front of her. "Are you well?"

Hermione froze in her rocking, and to her surprise the chaos in her head quieted to a low hum. She was embarrassed at being caught in such an undignified position whilst in the presence of a nobleman, but why should a vision embarrass her? She pulled her gaze up to meet his probing one and startled. His eyes were the strangest shade of blue—dark and uncomfortably intense. It occurred to her she could never get used to such a gaze.

"Well?" Her voice rang in her ears. "Quite well, my Lord Duke." She couldn't bring herself to stand and face him properly as her station required.

The duke listed his head, silently studying her. Hermione resisted the urge to shrink back in her chair.

"I realize this is a bit unfair to you." One side of his perfectly bowed lips pulled up in a smirk that seemed to incredibly suggest he was embarrassed. "I didn't approach you before asking the king for your hand."

Hermione gulped, unable to accept his words as truth. How was she to respond to something she was unsure was even happening? She could ignore the strange occurrences, or rebel against them, but something in her head suggested she carry herself appropriately, _just in case._

"The circumstances were highly unusual, I know, but I hope that upon my explanation, you will be agreeable."

Her eyes drew down to his hip where he carried quite a large sword at his side. She marveled at how vivid her imagination was.

"Your imbecile of a king hoped to trap me into a marriage that would be advantageous to his kingdom. Regrettably, my own sire has been pushing the burden of marriage on me as well, so selecting a wife was prevalent on my mind."

Out of the corner of her eye, the sword seemed to have morphed into nothing but a pale, yew stick. Upon further inspection Hermione found that it wasn't a sword at all, but merely a piece of wood he carried. It was more proof that she wasn't seeing things properly. Steel didn't change to wood.

"Of course," the duke paused to pull out a chair from the table and sit down to face her once more, "I only mean to take a wife of my own choosing...a wife with _certain traits_ I find suitable."

"Traits, my Lord?"

"I would prefer my wife to be obedient...to be of calm countenance...with the ability to care for herself, me, and our future children. I don't wish to wed a spoiled brat, you see."

Hermione nodded. Those all sounded like perfectly reasonable traits to request in a wife. Was he saying Princess Daphne did not possess those traits? What of the most important trait, one she was most assuredly lacking—noble birth? "What of station, my Lord, and...nobility?"

"King Lucius does value those attributes in a potential suitor, to be sure, but there is one attribute he desires above all else," a gleam passed over the duke's sharp blue eyes, something that looked awfully close to triumphant, which only served to baffle Hermione.

"Your Grace?"

The dark gaze intensified, and Hermione got the distinct impression he was concealing something from her. "It's nothing to concern yourself with at the moment, just rest assured that if we wed, you will be cared for and never find yourself wanting. Are you agreeable?"

She puzzled over his words and made a valiant attempt to make sense of them. The reasons he offered seemed to be made without thought and purely out of spite, if she had heard him correctly. "I am to be...a punishment," Hermione swallowed thickly, "to my king and your sire? A rash political move, Your Grace?"

His smirk widened. "Not at all." His tone was smooth and reassuring. "That's just a perk to _many_ other benefits. You needn't worry about being cast aside. Unions in Wiltshire are...extremely more binding than whatever services are practiced in Ballycastle. Our vows are ancient, and there is no breaking them."

Hermione eyed the handsome duke dubiously. The Duke of Salazar spoke many pretty words, and she had always been told to be wary of men who spoke pretty words.

"I do not see how you will not incur the wrath of your kingdom over such an unusual selection in a bride, my Lord Duke." She clamped her mouth shut, horrified to find herself addressing the nobleman so reproachfully. He probably would think her ornery.

His eyes narrowed. "I can assure you, madam, I am well aware of the impact my choice in Duchess will have, and I have considered _everything._ " The duke leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees gracefully. "But tell me: have you considered what would befall you if you did not accept my offer? Are you of the belief the king will forgive this transgression at my behest?"

"King Charles has been most kind to me," she hazarded carefully.

"King Charles offered you to me for the night as soon as you left," he bit back harshly. "In a last-ditch effort to saddle me with his pampered princess of a daughter."

Hermione gasped.

Eyes sparkling, he continued, "So eager was he to wed me to one of his daughters, he would even throw in an innocent girl in order to secure the transaction." He sat back, chin jutted out confidently. "There will be no forgiveness here should you decide to stay."

She visibly deflated, a stabbing pain throbbed inside her head.

The duke seemed to take pity on her. His eyes softened imperceptibly. "How old are you, madam?"

"This is my seventeenth year, my Lord."

"And what is your name?"

Some giddy part of her wanted to laugh. The man had asked for her hand, and he didn't even know her name. "Hermione, my Lord."

He raised his delicate brows, bidding her to continue. "And your family name?"

"I'm an orphan, Your Grace. I've served in the castle ever since leaving the orphanage six years ago. I have no family name."

"Then tell me, Hermione with no family name—what holds you here?" He smiled, displaying rows of impossibly white teeth and her heart stuttered in her chest. "When you might travel and learn new lands. When you may elect to trade your cot in for a manor in the spring and a permanent quarters in a castle more extravagant than this. The clothes you wear will be tossed and burned in the fire in favor of luxurious gowns in every shade. There would always be a feast prepared for you nightly, and a doting husband to attend to your needs."

Hermione sank her teeth into her lower lip. The man said things that sounded far too good to be true. Surely there was some catch to all of this?

"I would take care of you, _Hermione._ You have my word as a gentlemen."

She thought about the way his prince had taken care of Princess Astoria. Did she dare believe he would actually do all he promised? There was something about the duke that struck her as decidedly dark. "I'm worried you will find me lacking," she was compelled to tell him. "There is no way I could ever please you, Your Grace." A stab of sadness sparked through her chest at the truth of her words.

The duke got up quickly, and in four short strides, he was kneeling in front of her. He took her hands in his and rested them on her lap. Hermione suddenly forgot how to breathe. She should throw herself before him—a nobleman should never go to his knees for her!

"Hermione." Elegantly long fingers stroked her own, sending shivers whispering down her spine. His pleasant scent - cloves and sandalwood - permeated her senses. "I don't believe you will displease me. You need only listen to me always, and there will be peace between us. Do you think you will disobey me?"

"No, my Lord," she breathed, her chest rising and falling in shallow pants.

His mouth twisted in a devastating smirk. "Then we shan't have a problem, shall we?"

Her skin felt hot where it came into contact with his. She felt her face redden.

"What is your decision?"

She thought about it. He was actually giving her a choice, instead of just telling her she had to go with him like the king had. She never wanted a husband - she never wanted to endure the pain of bearing children - but it seemed it was in her favor to accept. There was no way to know how she would be regarded in the foreign kingdom of Wiltshire, but surely it would be a warmer welcome than if she stayed... _eventually._ She feared the handsome duke, and the effect he had on her, but the man seemed - for the most part - sincere.

Hermione nodded. "I accept your proposal, Your Grace."

The intimidating man she agreed to marry straightened from his crouched position until he was towering over her. He gazed at her like a hawk might eye its prey. "Call me Thomas, Hermione."

He leaned down and places a chaste kiss on her lips. She froze at the foreign sensation of lips brushing her own, especially ones belonging to someone so heart wrenchingly handsome. It was soft and fleeting. She hardly had the time to react, but it was sweet and decadent and quite possibly the single most intense moment of her live. Simply put—it took her breath away. Her eyelashes had fluttered shut and it took him brushing her cheek with the palm of his hand to open them again.

"Get some rest." Amusement and something more sparkled in his eyes. "We leave first thing tomorrow."

Hermione didn't sleep a wink.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

The incessant arguing had Thomas seconds away from throwing an Avada at the vexing Muggle, but Thomas held it together and in the end he got his way as he knew he would. There would be no silly wedding in a church delegated to him by a Muggle King. He would request Lord Black to officiate the ceremony in the ancient Pureblood way, and he'd better do it quickly before his Sire caught wind of Thomas' plans.

The next morning could find he and his doe-eyed fiance sitting in a coach headed back to Wiltshire.

The coach had cost him a pretty galleon, and it wouldn't be needed the entire way, but he required it so long as they were within the realm to keep up pretenses. Once free of the warded kingdom, he would be able to use Apparation once again.

He chanced a glance at his Intended, who was staring with wide eyes at Draco, who sat across from her, as he attempted to regale Theodore with his tales of debauchery from the night before.

"Do shut it," Thomas told him with an air of authority, despite his lower rank. "I know we started this trip with just _us boys_ , but there's a lady in our presence now. Surely you can pull some charm from your princely bag of tricks?"

Draco snickered, exchanging a meaningful glance with Theodore. " _Pull some charm,_ in front of a Muggle?" He let out a snide laugh. "For what reason? Father is going to murder you when we return home, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it."

Thomas could sense the girl tense beside him. She was utterly terrified. He debated Imperio'ing the prince to act the gentlemen Thomas needed him to be. And possibly slip her a Calming Draught while he was at it. He needed things to go off without a hitch, and certainly before King Lucius caught wind of his plans.

"Our dear prince likes to joke," he tilted his head to speak in her ear, amused to find gooseflesh spread across her neck with his words. His bride was proving to be quite responsive, and that was an exciting prospect.

"And you do not jest, My Lord," she said so quietly, he had to strain to hear.

Thomas couldn't help but chuckle at her ability to remember things. She was sharp too, and that could come in handy on occasion. "No, that I do not." He continued to watch her as she sat rigidly straight, her eyes as large as saucers, the oversized cloak she had been given effectively swallowing her up. "You have nothing to fear from them," he gestured to Draco and Theodore, "they mean you no harm."

"None at all, My Lady." Theodore was the picture of sincerity.

"My apologies, My Lord." She fiddled with her hands in her lap, her long lashes sweeping over her cheeks. "This is highly unusual, for me to be in the company of men without a female escort." There was a clear tremor in her voice.

Draco gaped at her, his face gearing up to laugh, and Thomas shot him a dark look to shut him up.

His eyes roved over Hermione, his Intended, finding that he liked what he saw. He could hardly make out her figure in the large cloak, but he saw that she was slight, a result of years of difficult labor no doubt. Her hair was hardly as smooth as a princess', but it was brushed out from the bun he had seen it in yesterday and half of it was pinned up as befit a lady of her future stature. Her face was interesting to look at - not conventionally beautiful - but intriguing nonetheless. Her nose was small and dainty, with a light splattering of freckles splashing across it and falling to her cheeks. It was hard to see her lips, as she had a dreadful habit of gnawing on them, but they appeared plump and he remembered them being soft against his own. Her eyes were liquid pools of amber framed by thick rows of lashes. She was pretty in a symmetrical sort of way.

And her shoulders were shaking.

"Yes," he said, remembering her earlier concern. "The situation is not common, but no matter. You are with your Intended, a sworn knight, and the Crown Prince. You couldn't be in safer hands."

"You're most kind, Your Grace."

"Please, call me Thomas." He reached out to stroke a stray lock of hair and she froze as if petrified. Her curls were rather wild. What a splash she would make at Court! She looked like no one else he'd ever seen. Certainly not the raving beauties that pranced around Court, but he found he liked that about her. She was exotic and different… raw and untamed. "Do you mind if I call you Hermione?" She had never granted him permission, after all.

Her eyes flew to his. "What else would you call me, Your-Thomas?"

This time Draco couldn't keep from laughing to Thomas' annoyance. Even Theodore seemed to be fighting a grin. Did they think the girl unassumingly clever? No one was more clever than him.

"I don't know," he retorted coldly. "How about My Lady, madam, My Betrothed, Her Grace the Future Duchess of Salazar, _darling_...shall I continue?"

Hermione blinked and refocused, as if just realizing she would soon be given that title, and with it the duties that followed. "No, My-Thomas."

He rolled his eyes. His Intended was a dodgy wisp of a thing. She would be eaten up alive at Court left to her own devices, but so long as she listened to him dutifully as a wife should, she would fair well. More importantly, her presence saved him from having to deal with the cunning ways of royal females, and someone else dictating his personal life to him. He'd outsmarted them all by selecting a no-name with no family or support. She would be forced to turn to him for everything. There would be no nefarious games going on under his nose, she wouldn't dare try such a thing.

His happiness renewed, he draped his arm around her shoulder and tugged her closer. He let go in surprise when she squeaked and pulled away from him.

Out of nowhere, a greedy gleam appeared in Draco's grey eyes. "Merlin's balls." He stared at her in disbelief. "Innocent as the driven snow," he sang, jabbing Theodore in his chainmail-clad arm. "You clearly like them blissfully unaware, don't you?"

"More importantly—without the pampered agenda of a princess," Thomas answered with a snarl.

"Sometimes I find mine and the agenda of princesses align quite pleasantly," Draco said silkily.

"You're acting like a child," Theodore chastised the prince before looking over to Hermione. "My apologies, My Lady. He's rarely found in _polite_ company."

Thomas said nothing. The girl had proclaimed to be seventeen—surely she couldn't be _that_ innocent. He frowned at the notion. Perhaps she was a virgin, he'd neglected to demand her to be checked as he had every right to. It wasn't really high on his priority list, but a welcome perk he supposed. She served as a pawn, too desperate and soon to be too grateful to ever betray him. He did not require her purity, but the idea of her being unsullied did have its appeal. He did however, require her consummation. He hoped she would not be as flighty as she appeared. Surely a chambermaid working in a castle would not be so very sheltered.

He could hardly expand on it now as the coach came abruptly to a stop.

The driver got out and came up to the opened window, casting a dodgy look into the car and clutching his cap for all he was worth.

"We're to the falls, My Lords." Worry rolled off of him in waves. "The bridge looks a bit worse for wear."

"Prince Draco." Thomas flashed a smile. "You'll need to tell your father about this."

The blond ignored the demand and followed Theodore as he left the coach. Thomas nudged Hermione to follow after them. She shot him a confused look, but made to comply just the same.

"My Lords?" the coachmen asked as he saw them exiting, brows knitted together in confusion.

Thomas said nothing initially as he withdrew his wand and walked over to where the man stood. "Your services are no longer needed." _Imperio._ A jet of wispy green light shot out from his wand and collided with the man's head. " _You've delivered us safely, now return to your kingdom. Oh, and do give me my galleon back._ "

The man plucked a piece of gold from his pocket, depositing it in Thomas' outstretched hand before walking in a daze back to the coach. He made short work of turning the vehicle around and taking off down the road.

"The coachman." Hermione raised a trembling finger. "He's abandoning us!"

Thomas strode up to his poor bride-to-be's side, tucking his wand back in his holster. "Not to worry," he said in a feline purr as his arms reached around to secure her by the waist. She gasped and her hands flew to his forearms, trying to prise them off of her. The mist from the impressive waterfalls wafted over them, causing Hermione to swipe at her face and at him as she twisted away from danger. He held her tighter, unimpressed by the striking view from the cliff and the wavering suspension bridge that seemed fit to break under a foot of weight as was its intention. "I told you I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

Realization dawning on her, she turned her head to face him as much as he allowed her to, her eyes turning stoic. "Will you throw me to my death?"

Thomas grimaced. "What a horrifying notion. Honestly, you're rather morbid, aren't you?"

Hermione didn't answer him, but merely stared. Beside them, he saw Draco and Theodore disappear with a pop. She didn't seem to notice, so focused was she on him, but she'd stopped trying to push him away at least.

Shaking his head, he called on his magic and smiled as he felt it bristle across his skin and lick over hers. With precise focus, he bent his magic to his will and pulled them both into the familiar draw of Apparation.

When he felt the space around him shift and the dimensions stretch, he relinquished his grasp on his frightened little-wife-to-be.

She wavered precariously before falling promptly to the ground, outstretched fingers flexing over dew-soaked grass. The falls were now only a distant sound some ways behind them. She pulled herself to her knees, and he tried to look at the scene from her perspective.

The kingdom of Wiltshire spread before them in all it's magical glory. As if on cue, he heard the howl of a werewolf. Hermione sat on her legs, making no move to get up as she looked down the hill and into the bustling city. The sky had darkened to dark blue, highlighting the vast amount of faeries that dotted the horizon. Crooked buildings and twisted spires stuck out against the skyline. A hag rolled a cart down the paved road below them, selling her wares. A goblin sat outside his exchange shop, counting silver. A portly witch shot spells from her wand at a trio of gnomes running rampant through her garden. Owls roamed freely through the air, scrolls and packages clutched in their claws. Far off into the distance where crude homes and thick forests gave way to the manors and lesser castles housing the elite stood the large castle he grew up in. Thomas could barely make out a Welsh dragon flying overhead before it landed on a turret.

Her mouth fell open.

"You'd better get used to my touch," he informed her warningly. "That's how we travel around here."

She closed her mouth and slanted her gaze over to him, eyes wild. "How, exactly?"

"By Apparation."

She nodded as if that made perfect sense. "Is this a vision?"

He snorted. "Hardly. There's nothing that impressive about it." He reached down to pull her back to her feet. "Now come on, then. Draco's already got a head start on us." He kept her arm in his as he pointed to a black building with a cauldron hanging from the door. "That tavern there has the closest Floo. We need to get to my godfather's house quickly."

He led her down the hill and onto the main road before darting under the covered walkway. It was a short and rushed walk to the tavern. The place was, of course, teeming with people. Hermione's eyes glanced from one table to the next, widening with each new glimpse that seemed to her more alarming than the last.

"It's not polite to stare, lovely," Thomas chided her. "Especially at vampires. They're prone to snap at you."

She tensed and he had to shove her in the direction of the Floo.

"We can go on a tour some other time." He pulled her inside the wide hearth and grabbed a handful of powder. " _To Castle Black_!"

Hermione screamed as the flames swallowed them up in a shock of green light before dimming and giving way to another scene entirely.

"My apologies," he called over his shoulder. "My godfather is quite the paranoid wizard. He doesn't allow direct Apparation except for him."

"This can't be happening," she said between coughs.

"Speaking of which," he didn't let go of her hand as they navigated through the garish parlor. "There he is now. The illustrious Lord Black."

"Thomas, my boy!" Sirius exclaimed, standing up to greet him with a cigar hanging from his lips. "I didn't know you had returned."

"Just arrived." Thomas reluctantly let the man pull him into an embrace - the only person he allowed such liberties - while still keeping his grip on Hermione.

"And this must be the lovely Princess Daphne."

Hermione stared blankly at him.

"Merlin's balls! That is...Princess Astoria?"

In a daze, she turned her gaze to Thomas as if he could tell her who she was. He didn't mind, he was happy to answer any questions that may be directed her way. She was, after all, a puppet.

"Neither," Thomas answered blithely. "This is Hermione. -No, just Hermione, and Sirius—I need you to marry us in the utmost haste."

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey you lovely people! I swear-all I want to write anymore is historical romance. The plunnies are flowing like mad and I can't quite figure out what to do with them! If only I had more time _not_ at work where I could start hammering some of these out, but alas-yesterday I worked 17 hours and my sleep schedule has me a bit delerious. Cross your fingers for me I get some writing time this weekend? Your feedback gives me so much life C: Happy reading Xx**

 **Beta love to NikkiB and Kreeblim Sabs**

 **Shout out to followers, favorite-ers, and reviewers:** **fantasy4luvr,** **Yosra72, Lara, LazierReader, SereniteRose, mangoandpassionfruit, Hermione Lyra Malfoy-Riddle, Riddle reddi, ClaireBergstrom, thenerdgirl25, ii-V-I, TeaTHYME, zeromin, Clockwork Golem, Sasha404,** **and the guests!**

* * *

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione - no - _Duchess Hermione Riddle_ sat with her hands folded in her lap, her mind reeling from the rush of events she'd just endured. Lord Black had officiated the ceremony, if one could call it such. The only people - and she used that term loosely - present were herself, the duke, Lord Black, and a small creature referred to simply as _Kreacher._

And that was all.

Well, she wasn't exactly complaining. Direct interaction with people made Hermione uncomfortable to begin with and she was especially scared of the citizens of Wiltshire who appeared to consist of an entire community of magical individuals, each species more frightening than the last. Suppose a werewolf kidnapped her and tore her throat out? Or perhaps she would meet a fatal end with a blood-sucking vampire? There appeared to be nowhere safe to hide in her new kingdom. She missed the comfort of Ballycastle, even if she was just a nobody there. At least she knew what to expect. At least she knew what was expected of her!

She was _just human._

Were there other 'just humans' here? Surely she couldn't be the only one, not if King Lucius demanded his royals to wed ladies from neighboring kingdoms in order to secure a truce. If that occurred, perhaps there were other normal people like herself. Dare she hope?

The ceremony hadn't even seemed like a ceremony, not really.

There were no flowers or spectators or cake! She certainly wasn't wearing a ring, at least not a visible one. She hardly looked the part of a duchess in her simple dress and unadorned hair. Her shoes were far too large and lent to her by Cecilia. She was certainly no vision. She thought about the words Lord Black had instructed them to repeat.

 _Blood of my blood,_

 _And bone of my bone,_

 _I pledge you my body, my spirit, so we shall be one._

 _On my honor and my magic._

Hermione still felt the tingling around her ring finger where a golden intricate sphere had appeared to circle around the digit before vanishing completely into her skin, but not before leaving a stinging burn in its wake. Her new husband had informed her quite smugly that they were permanently bound in the most ancient of ways. Did it really apply to her? She had honor, sure, but magic? She was decidedly lacking in that field. Maybe it was just him that was bound to her. Wouldn't that be a hysterical turn of events?

 _A bit hairy at the heel, isn't she?_ Lord Black had inquired of her husband, to which he had replied, _She is ill-bred, yes._ Lord Black had peered at his godson as if he'd sprouted another head, but commented no further. Hermione had wanted to shrink into the black wooden walls. Of course she knew she was unworthy, even among magicfolk with their bizarre traditions. Would she be bound to live a life of constantly being reminded of this? She couldn't help but think bitterly how this was not what she had agreed to.

Her fingers flexed over the cushion of the lounger she sat on. The piece of furniture was _his—_ her husband's. Salazar Castle was not so different from Castle Black judging from the interior. It was still dark and dreadfully garish. The rooms seemed in desperate need of a female touch. There were no decorations whatsoever. Just furniture and more furniture and ridiculous crown molding. It looked in need of a sound cleaning as well. She itched to do so herself, but thought better of it. That surely was below her new station, but where were the servants and what did they do all day? There was dust for days!

The castle was no longer just her husband's - no - according to the vows they had both uttered, this castle was her home as well. Perhaps she could make an improvement here, at the very least. It would give her something to focus on in an otherwise abhorrently planned itinerary. It wasn't as if she wanted to ever leave the premises. Perhaps she could waste away inside these walls and never encounter another _magic person_ again, save her husband.

Well…

...She _was slightly_ curious.

It was only natural to be so, she rationalized. Wiltshire was to be her new home and she knew next to nothing about it. Everything she had heard back in Ballycastle was wrong. Obviously she would need to explore the kingdom, but she could start with Salazar Castle. It was not near as large as Ballycastle, and from what she could tell, dwarfed in the shadow of Wiltshire Castle, but it was substantial at the very least. Her husband would no doubt appreciate such enthusiasm in the form of her desire to explore.

Speaking of which, the man in question - or the wizard, rather - chose that moment to stride back into the room. She studied him carefully, her eyes darting up to stare at his face, taking note of the strong curve of his jaw and the strange shade of his eyes.

"Like what you see, Wife?" He flashed a rather dark grin.

She slid her eyes back to her lap. "I'm sorry, Your Gr—, Thomas. I didn't mean to stare."

He chuckled. "By all means, stare away. I can't fault you for your interest. It's only natural."

She looked up once more, catching on to the teasing lilt in his voice. It occurred to her that he was rather arrogant. "How _kind of you_ , Your—, Thomas."

He whipped his head around, a stunned expression on his face when he took note of her snark. "I realize you have had a trying day. I've taken the liberty of preparing your chambers. Perhaps you'd like to retire to them now?"

"A trying day," she repeated, tasting the words in her mouth. "You mean finding out that the man who has asked for my hand is actually a magician who lives in a supernatural kingdom? I believe you neglected to inform me of that part, Your—, Thomas."

He rolled his eyes in a very un-duke-like fashion. "The proper term is _wizard._ Magician is insulting."

"Pardon me."

"I believe I promised to _take care of you,_ did I not?" He leveled his menacing stare on her and she felt herself shrink back, despite her ire. "In return for your agreeableness and obedience, might I add, as well as your unwavering loyalty. I will not tolerate any of my people conspiring with my enemies."

"Conspire with your enemies." Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. "I don't even know how to go about performing the simplest tasks in this realm. I'm not even sure if I stepped outside that I wouldn't be gobbled up by some terrifying monster. Yet you believe I would bypass all of those obstacles in order to conspire with someone _more terrible_ than you? Please forgive my surprise, Your—, Thomas."

He listed his head in a motion that reminded Hermione of a predator evaluating its prey. "You're quite a feisty thing, aren't you? Not nearly as quiet as I first pegged you for."

"I apologize for my shortcomings." Alarms rang in her head, warning Hermione that she should probably stop herself from inciting the wrath of such a man, but she was hardpressed to follow her own advice.

He ignored her rudeness and moved to a crystal decanter that stood on a table by the fireplace. He poured himself a glass of copper-colored liquid, before pouring another and passing it to her.

Her eyes raised up questioningly.

"I'm sorry I don't have wine." He inclined his head graciously. "But I find where wine fails, firewhisky improves the situation splendidly. Do help yourself."

"My Lord." She pressed her hand against her chest, aghast. "Even in my former station, I was never permitted to indulge in strong drink."

He raised his eyes skyward. "I am your Lord and ruler now," he needlessly reminded her. "If I say you can partake in hard spirits, you can, but only with my permission."

Hermione took the glass and wrinkled her nose at it. It smelled strong and looked thick in texture. She'd only before sipped wine left over in the glasses she cleaned as a girl, and she hadn't much cared for it nor had she seen what the fuss was about.

Thomas raised his glass in the air. "To our new marriage," he toasted.

"To our marriage," she said with less enthusiasm. She tipped the glass back and devoured the contents as he did, only to come up sputtering a moment later. The liquid burned down the base of her throat and she could feel it still even as it trickled into her stomach. "It's horrible!"

He laughed, the rich, but dark sound setting her nerves on high alert. "It's an acquired taste, but you shouldn't drink _it all_."

She placed the glass on the side table next to the lounger, feeling abruptly dizzy, not bothering to point out that he drank it all, as well. Her heart dropped when she heard the no doubt pricey crystal crash to the floor. "I'm sorry, Your Grace."

Thomas reached for the pale stick in his trouser holster Hermione had at one point somehow mistaken for a sword. Looking back, she realized it may have been a glamour of some sort. He trained the yew wood at the glass pieces laying on the floor, and she watched in shock as the cup righted itself, pieces flying together, and became whole once more.

"No need to worry, Duchess." He extended his arm in offering and she took it reluctantly. "Allow me to escort you to your rooms."

She soon found that the aid of his arm was a small grace she was actually thankful for. She seemed to have completely forgotten how to walk and she stumbled so hard at one point, she nearly brought him down with her. Yet, Thomas was graceful, and appeared to be more than capable of balancing them both in their journey to her mysterious _chamber._

"You know." His voice was edged with amusement and something else she couldn't identify. "I must congratulate you—you're turning out to be more interesting than I originally anticipated, and I'm rarely incorrect in my deductions."

"Rarely?" She gripped him firmer, willing the hall to stop it's treacherous spinning. "Perhaps it's a sign you should hold off on making deductions before you actually know something for a fact."

"Such sage advice coming from a former commoner."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the quip, and continued walking through the next doorway and into another hall. She felt a small tugging, like a prickling at her skin, but ignored it. Thomas, however, stopped in his step.

"What's wrong?" She eyed him warily.

His eyes drew to the doorway above their heads. "This entrance is heavily warded."

"Warded?"

"Meaning it is off limits to intruders. Gives them a rather nasty jolt backwards. Feels similar to being punched in the chest. Any additional attempts result in burns and skin sores."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You did this?" Her gaze turned accusatory. "And you were going to let me walk right through them, neglecting completely to warn me?"

He twisted his shoulders in a shrug. "I wanted to see if they'd work on you… you know… since we are wedded now. Perhaps the vows make you immune to my warding."

"Perhaps?" she echoed. Her hands fell to perch on her hips. "You would leave such an experiment up to chance?"

"Do you have a better solution for finding out?"

She stammered for words but came up short.

"I thought so." He craned his head, and she felt his familiar assessment as his eyes raked over her. "Interesting indeed, more and more by each passing moment."

Hermione held her head as high as she could, feeling mild annoyance at his flippant concern for her well-being. Take care of her, indeed. She didn't know if she was even comfortable with her husband showing so much - _interest_ , as he called it - towards her. She was beginning to believe the man was just as brilliant as he was arrogant. Brilliant, arrogant...and maybe a trifle insane.

"It's just this way." He pointed to a set of stairs that led to another hallway.

 _It's a bloody maze,_ she thought. _How will I ever make it to breakfast in the morning?_ She tried to memorize her steps and think back to where she had just come from, but she was beginning to feel turned around. The liquor wasn't helping.

"Those are my chambers." He gestured to a hall on the opposite end, with maybe eight doors resting along it.

"All of those?"

"I have many needs."

She stared at him blankly.

He noticed and sighed. "You know, a Potion Chamber...Astronomy Tower...office...bedroom...second bedroom...bathing chamber...that sort of thing."

"Dear God." He was a bit high maintenance, in her opinion. "So should I need you, start at the beginning and work my way down the line?"

"Be sure to knock first."

"Aren't there any servants in this castle?" Her voice may have come out whingy, she wasn't sure she cared at this point. She still felt fueled by the foreign firewhisky. "I haven't seen a single person since our arrival."

"There's Hokey," he said as if this Hokey was all a castle of this size needed. In Hermione's mind, Hokey was doing a horrible job, or maybe just overwhelmed. "She is a house-elf like Kreacher."

Hermione winced at the thought of one of those ugly creatures. She would have to speak to him about getting more help. Maybe human help? Surely he could afford it.

"These are your rooms." He gestured grandly to the end of the hall, with three doorways gracing the walls. "Do with them what you please, as they are yours."

"You're most kind." She glanced back at his end of the hall, making silent comparisons. He had a good five more rooms than she did, but what did she need more than one for? If anything, maybe one would end up being a nursery. She shivered at the thought. She was equal parts fearful and intrigued by the notion. The promise of pain made her want to run for the hills, but surely producing an heir was now the largest of her responsibilities. "Which room should I take?"

"Well," he opened the first door with a flourish. "This is the Blue Room."

Her eyes wandered over the interior of the room in pleasant surprise. A blue canopied bed stood at the center, larger than even Princess Astoria's. Plush blue carpet lay in the middle of the room. Stepping inside, she found her feet sank into its softness. There were various bits of furniture: a sitting area by the fire, a blue and gold dressing screen decorated with the outline of birds, and a matching bureau standing on the opposite end of the room. There was a bay window with a blue cushioned sitting bench complete with golden pillows decorated with tassels—an ideal spot for reading. It was flanked by a bookcase dotted with tomes and scrolls. To the left of the bed was a golden tub that looked large enough to submerge herself in completely.

"Hokey will escort you to the village square in the morning, so you may select your own furniture."

Hermione gasped. "Why would I need more?"

"To replace what you don't find to your liking."

"I like it very much, and don't wish to replace anything," she rushed to assure him.

"Wonderful, but there are the other rooms to contend with." Thomas glanced through the open door. "Not to mention you still need to make a trip to get fitted for dresses and such. Perhaps I can have Lady Pansy escort you."

"Is she a witch?"

"Of course."

Hermione worried her lip. "Is she nice?"

Thomas scoffed. "Most certainly _not_."

She inhaled a large breath through her nose. "Lovely, but I really must ask you—do you really think it wise to spend your Galleons on something so unimportant?"

"Unimportant." His voice was dangerously low. "Are you insinuating that my new wife is _unimportant?_ "

"Well, no. Just my wardrobe."

"I'll not have you look like a pauper." His lips curled in disgust. "Imagine what perception that would give people? And I don't mean to lock you up in a tower, so you will be mingling with royals as well as come across common people on occasion."

"You care what the common people think?"

"Of course." His smirk sent shivers whispering down her spine. "I call a ruler unwise and unfit who neglects to take into account the perception of the masses."

Hermione felt begrudging appreciation build in her chest, but then of course, he could be lying to endear himself to her. "Thank you... _Husband_. I think I'm ready to retire to my chambers now."

She hoped her abrupt dismissal was not to untoward, but started when she saw him smile, displaying perfect rows of white teeth, and step further into the room. Hermione took a resultant step back.

"Don't get flighty on me now, Wife," he said in a feline purr. "Not after I've been so kind and welcoming."

Oh no!

Did he mean to...was he going to...he couldn't possibly expect her to endure _that_...not after everything he'd forced her to go through already? She couldn't take anymore surprises! To say nothing of the fact that she hadn't had time to think about what it would mean to truly become a wife, in every aspect of the word. She needed more time!

Thomas did not seem keen on giving her what she desired most.

With each step he took into the room she took a step back until she found her back pressed against the wall.

"Don't fear, Hermione," he purred, his voice having dropped a few octaves. "I'll be sure to make things enjoyable for you."

And then his lips were crashing down on hers. This kiss was not like the chaste one from before that had took her breath away. No. This one was hard and fast and filled with a need that frightened her. His lips moved against her own forcefully, coaxing a reaction she wasn't sure she understood. What did he want her to do? She froze when she felt his hands come up to grip her face. They were warm and strong and entirely _too much._ She wasn't ready to deal with this!

He grasped the sides of her face and tilted her head. She jumped when she felt his tongue dart out to taste her lips. He stilled her as if calming a flighty mare, and held her more securely, which only panicked her even more. The feeling of being held - of being _restrained_ \- was foreign to her and she didn't much care for it! Heat raced through her veins, causing her to lock her joints in dread. What was happening? Why didn't he just... _stick his sword in her and get it over with?_

The offending appendage that was his tongue seem to have enough of tasting her lips, and pushed its way through and into her mouth. Now the panic really begin to set in. Standing rigidly, she was shocked at the intrusion. Her hands came up to grip his wrists which in turn were gripping her. She could taste firewhisky on his tongue and something else...something dark and distinctly masculine, intrinsically him.

She didn't know what to do as his tongue thrashed against hers. His hands drew down to cup the mounds of her chest and she yelped in outrage. There was something about his touch - _there_ \- something highly disconcerting, but she shoved the thought aside in preparation for the pain that would ultimately come. It had been enough to make Princess Astoria wail in agony, surely it would make Hermione wish she were dead!

He nudged a knee between her legs and Hermione clamped her thighs against him. She knew she was fighting him when she should be doing as Hilda suggested, reaching for the rod in the curtain beside her elbow and holding on for dear life until he got his passion over and done with, but she couldn't help but to resist him at every turn. He was hot and sinuous muscle and the scent of him did funny things to her insides, but he would ultimately hurt her, and that kept her on a fear-induced edge.

"Salazar's balls," he swore, pulling away from her. "What the bloody hell is the matter?"

Hermione took the space afforded to her and sank to the floor, an easy enough task thanks to the heavy feeling she had received from the firewhisky. She wrapped her arms around her knees, feeling like an utter failure as she looked up from under her lashes at him. "I'm sorry!" Her voice was thick with unshed tears. "I'm just afraid."

He ran a jerky hand through his hair. "Merlin, what can you possibly be so afraid of?"

"I know it will hurt." She ducked her head ashamed.

He wrinkled his nose. "Are you _really_ a virgin?" He gaped at her and Hermione shrank under his stare. "It will hurt, maybe a little, but not completely. Bloody hell, we're married now, we have to consummate. The vows aren't complete until we do."

"I know." Tears shone in her eyes. "I know we have to, and I'm a failure for stopping it, but I'm just afraid of all the pain."

" _All the pain_?" He stepped back and she could feel his gaze intensify. "What...do you think it's _just pain_?"

She nodded sullenly. What else would it be?

He adjusted his collar, eyes narrowing. "I see." A thoughtful expression passed over his eyes. "I don't wish to cause you any distress." He leaned down and offered her his hand. "Don't worry about the consummation, that can come later."

Hermione allowed him to pull her up from the floor. She swiped at her tears. "But aren't we supposed to do it right away? What good is it to put it off the inevitable?"

"Are you telling me you're ready, then?"

She gulped.

"I thought so. No, we will wait, I think." A sly look flickered over his face. "I hear it's better when the husband and wife know each other closely, anyway."

"Truly?" Hope shrilled through her.

He nodded. "One step at a time. I won't force myself on any woman. I never have and certainly won't start tonight."

Hermione considered telling him she would never be ready, nor would she be more comfortable with the idea, but she would go through with it, as was her duty. She thought better of telling him such a thing. Maybe time was what she needed to ready herself for the trauma she would soon endure. "Thank you, My—, Thomas."

"Get some rest, dear Wife." He flashed a smile at her. "We have much to prepare for."

She nodded, breathing a sigh of relief when he inclined his head in farewell and left her blessedly alone. He really meant to give her time! He wouldn't demand his rights as she would have expected him to. Dare she hope he was right, and _it did_ become easier to bear the act once a wife was comfortable with her husband? Whatever the verdict, Hermione could add another trait to Thomas Riddle.

He may be arrogant and brilliant and slightly insane, but he was also generous.

Perhaps he truly did mean to keep his word...and take care of her.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

 _Pure as the driven snow._

Malfoy had claimed such a thing in reference to her, but Thomas had all but dismissed it. The likelihood of a commoner being found so virginal? It was even a rarity among princesses. She was terrified of being with a man.

She proposed a challenge, and he'd not had the pleasure of coming across a challenge in years. Before he could convince her that she would enjoy his attentions, she had to first warm up to him, but she was a feisty slip of a thing.

Thomas laughed into his glass of firewhisky. To think that a common chambermaid would be so bold as to question him...to sass him, as frequently as this one did, was amusing to say the least. He was used to girls putting up pretenses around him, all of which he could see right through. But with Hermione, there was nothing to see through. What you saw is what you got. There was no highborn daughter trained since adolescence in the art of tricking a man. There were no false laughs or carefully sculpted answers ladies thought he wanted to hear.

She was honest, and that was interesting.

The sound of a man howling could be heard further into the dungeons. Thomas chanced a glance down the stone hall, eyes scanning the various cells the sconces lighting the walls revealed to him.

He was fortunate enough to discover Macnair's treachery. Imagine if the lordling would have scrambled to King Lucius with the news of Thomas' shift in allegiance?

No, that would never do.

No one need know where his loyalties truly lie. Thomas cursed his misfortune. He was caught between killing the man outright or using him as leverage much later. Each prospect presented with inherent difficulties. Macnair was supposed to be on _their side_ \- wretched _coward_ \- and yet he'd found it profitable to play the part of a double agent. Such a decision would prove to be his fatal end. Thomas did not tolerate deceit - at least, not when he was the one being deceived.

He had King Lucius just where he wanted. He had the Wiltshire royals just where he wanted. He could play any of the fine lords and ladies like a fiddle. Everyone scrambled for his attention, and would perform favors if called upon, no doubt. The Court was in a prime position for takeover, and if ever there was a time for new leadership—it was now.

King Lucius was old and more concerned with consorting with filthy Muggles in order to secure his power than doing so the correct way. The only acceptable way to secure power was to ensure you were the _most powerful,_ and that no opponent stood in your way to propose a challenge. If the king needed to fall back on Muggles to fight his opposition, he deserved to be overthrown. Magic was the only thing that mattered. Everyone had their uses, but true power was something you were born with, like Thomas had been.

The sound of Macnair's cries were like a royal symphony playing at Court—he enjoyed the resultant melody. Thomas closed his eyes in bliss and listened to the sound of betrayal, ousted only thanks to his expert intuition. Was there a wizard alive capable of besting him? It was difficult to tell—the wizards currently in power sat behind thrones flanked by subordinates placed as pawns to do their bidding. Who knew if they were worthy of wearing such heavy crowns. Even Muggle kingdoms were utilized in the game of wizarding royals. Everyone served a purpose.

Thomas scoffed at their stupidity.

Wizarding kings would do anything to ensure they remained in power, but sometimes, what needed to transpire was the kings in question coming down from their untouchable seats of power and proving their worth. Very few kings were willing to take such a risk.

It was why no king held Thomas' respect.

No king save Grindelwald.

Magic was might and those who possessed it and could wield it unflinchingly over those that were weaker, those existing only to serve, were the ones who deserved to rule.

Thomas smiled.

His plans were seeing fruition. He had discovered a way to thwart King Lucius' plans for marriage, as well as spotted a spy among his own ranks. Who could stand against him and live to tell the tale, truly? Certainly no one he'd encountered thus far. He was always five steps ahead of his enemies. He noticed the gems hidden in shells of filth. No one else would take the time to look, and that was their own folly. Thomas excelled at inspecting all angles.

Coming down to the dungeons to hear the screams of his victims was almost therapeutic. He felt better already.

Thoughts of the innocent little woman laying down in her bed four floors above him permeated his brain. She was a bit of a wildcard, or more accurately, _a challenge._ He had plans for her just as he did all his puppets. She had no clue what was in store for her, to say nothing of what was lurking in her immediate future.

Seduction by his hands.

Had any woman or witch before been able to boast of resisting him? The answer to that was a resounding no. Hermione had captured his interest in more ways than one. Her innocence as well as her transparency was a welcome change to what he was used to. Of course it wasn't enough to captivate him forever, but it was more than her predecessors had achieved. What was more, she was a bound to him - if not fully, then she would be soon. The perfect puppet for a wife. When compared to his previous options, Thomas couldn't help but feel as though he'd dodged the fiery vengeance of a dragon. It was up to him to decide his fate. He wouldn't allow anyone else to ever hold an ounce of power over him.

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you ever so much for the feedback on this story. I hope you enjoy the update. Happy reading Xx**

 **Beta love to NikkiB and Kreeblim Sabs**

* * *

 **~oOo*oOo~**

The dress she wore felt entirely too revealing. Hermione couldn't help but wonder where the sleeves had gone? The style of clothes in Wiltshire proved to be just as different as everything else she encountered so far in this strange land. She ran her hands down the a-line corset and further down to the layers of organza that made up the cathedral style skirt. It hadn't fit her initially, but the strange creature known as Hokey had performed some type of spell that had tightened and shortened the dress without the use of thread or needle. Hokey had then proceeded to pin her hair in an elaborate updo. None of the primping had prepared her for their imminent trip to the palace, however.

"Must I truly wear this to meet the king?" Hermione gnawed on her lip as she chanced a glance at Thomas who was once more wearing his armour and chainmail over his silver and green tunic.

Thomas frowned which only served to make his already handsome face look somehow even more handsome. "It's what all the ladies of the Court wear. Better get used to dressing to suit your station."

She pressed her lips in a petulant line as they continued to make their way from the extravagant Floo room and down the equally gorgeous hall. "Why didn't you marry one of the ladies of Court?" She knew she was pushing it by asking him such a forward question, but her curiosity spurred her on. Surprise flashed across her face when he actually answered her.

"The kingdom of Wiltshire has kept to itself for ages, shutting its doors from outsiders. Over the years, lines have become convoluted and nearly everyone is related to each other. Inbreeding has led to infertility, and that's the main reason the king has demanded we find foreign wives to introduce new bloodlines. But, of course, that presents with inherent problems as well."

Hermione fought to keep the shock from registering on her face. Of all the possible answers she'd expected to hear, that surely wasn't one of them. What a peculiar issue for Wiltshire to face. She couldn't help thinking it served them right for being so reclusive and unwelcoming in the first place, but another part of her understood the decision to hide their secrets from the rest of the world. In her experience, people feared what they didn't understand.

"What sort of problems?"

"There are some unwelcome results that come from coupling with Muggles," he drawled, a wicked glint passing over his eyes. "For instance, despite the fact that the marriage bed has proved fertile, there is the chance that a child born of a Muggle and a witch or wizard may be a squib."

"A squib?"

"Born without the ability of wielding magic."

"Oh." Hermione felt her heart suddenly plummet in her chest. What if that was her fate with Thomas? What if she gave him a child, but they would not be magically inclined like their father? Would he hate her for it? "What are the odds of something like that happening, My—, Thomas?"

"A four in five chance, actually, and only a one in one hundred chance when between a witch and wizard."

She felt suddenly nauseous. The odds didn't seem to be in her favor _at all._ She pitied a child born without the special ability if they were destined to live here. They would be outcasts, like she was surely doomed to be. "Oh dear."

"You needn't fear. I'm confident our prospects will be favorable."

Hermione did not share his optimism. "You do realize that those statistics threaten the existence of witches and wizards? There are bound to be less and less magical births with numbers like those."

She could hardly focus on her opulent surroundings as she turned the idea over in her head. Their footsteps echoed in the vast and empty hall as she studied him nervously. Her husband was a force to be reckoned with. There was an air of power that hung around him like an impenetrable shield. He strode confidently through the castle with a fearless devil-may-care attitude. Hermione could not be more opposite to him.

"Not necessarily, Dear Wife." He slanted his hard gaze over to meet hers. "There are times when a witch or a wizard can be born of two Muggles."

She gasped. "Really?" The notion momentarily stunned her. Try as she might, she could not imagine a random witch or wizard being born in the kingdom of Ballycastle. How would they know who they were, or how to connect with their roots? They would go mad! The thought was tragic. Suppose they never knew of their heritage? She pitied the poor person. "What is the likelihood of something like that happening?"

He arched an elegant brow as a smirk pulled at his lips. "One in one hundred thousand, I would guess. They are rare, but they exist. We call them Muggle-borns."

Something dark passed through his eyes that she couldn't quite register, but it made her uncomfortable just the same.

"Enough with the statistics lesson," he said sharply, his attention pulled to the entrance of the Court they had finally reached. "It's time for you to meet your king, and you'd better not disappoint me."

Hermione gulped, wishing desperately to remind him he hadn't prepared her for what she was supposed to say and it was very likely that she could disappoint him—a one in two chance by her estimations.

As they entered through the high doorway, Hermione had to grit her teeth to keep from gaping. The Court was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. There were trees edging the room - trees with some type of flittering lights nestled in the leaves - and floating chandeliers above their heads. Many members of the Court were gathered around the various sitting areas that lined the crystal-stone walkway which led to the extravagant throne. Gems were carved into the walls and cut into the impressive throne itself, sparkling under the light of the chandeliers. Behind the throne was a waterfall that seemed to feed itself. It fell into a sapphire blue pool designed around the dias. In the throne sat the king she recognized instantly as Prince Draco's father. Never before had she seen such long, platinum blond hair on a man or a woman. He wore a fur grey robe around his black tunic and a jewel studded crown atop his head.

The sick feeling in her gut came back with a vengeance.

The pressure on the small of her back brought her to herself once more and she let Thomas urge her further into the room. She was acutely aware of the eyes on her from the various ladies and gentlemen of the Court who watched them curiously. They were all stunningly beautiful - inhumanely so - in her opinion. They had the strange beauty Sir Nott, Prince Draco, and her husband the duke had when she first noticed them in Ballycastle. Hermione wondered if it was an effect of the magic they possessed—magic she was almost sure she could feel rolling off of them in dark, intoxicating waves.

"His Grace the Duke of Salazar and his Lady Wife, the Duchess," a man standing below the dais announced in a booming voice that echoed down the hall.

Hermione fought from flinching as she quickly dipped into her best curtsy while Thomas bowed beside her. Surely she had done that right, at least. _So far so good._

"Lord Riddle," the king bit out in a tone so silky Hermione almost didn't detect the disapproval hidden in his words.

"Your Grace," Thomas returned.

"I must confess," the king sat forward, resting his forearms on his legs, "I've been most eager for you to present your Lady Wife. The prince has regaled us with quite the tale."

Hermione felt shame creep up her face as she kept her eyes ducked.

She wasn't good enough.

It was a fact she knew already, but still the reminder pained her. What had her brilliant and cunning husband been thinking to select her over a more fortuitous match? She'd heard his excuses before, but surely they would shrivel up and die in front of the formidable King Lucius.

Thomas was the picture of ease as he gestured to Hermione, seemingly oblivious to the rude stares he was getting from the sidelines. "This is Lady Hermione, a maiden of Ballycastle, as you instructed me to find, Excellency."

Murmurs suddenly filled the hall, but Hermione could not distinguish the words behind them.

"Your Grace." She curtseyed again and kept her eyes lowered, feeling wholly foolish. She should be in some kitchen somewhere scrubbing the dishes from a feast, not parading as a duchess. Did wizards require their dishes to be scrubbed? Or did they tend to such things magically? The distracting thought almost made her chuckle giddily. It was a pure nightmare! She was vaguely aware of the fact that she hadn't had one of her visions since leaving Ballycastle. Perhaps that's what this was - one long, drawn out episode? - maybe she had finally lost her wits.

King Lucius scoffed loudly, completely ignoring Hermione much to her relief. "I distinctly remember advising you to choose the _best possible_ match, one that would benefit us politically. Yet you bring… what was it Draco?"

Hermione's attention was pulled to where Prince Draco sat, a dark-haired raving beauty lounging cozily by his side. His smile was cruel. "A chambermaid, I believe."

Her eyes dropped to the stone where she imagined herself shrinking and melting between the cracks. The giggles from the fine assembly rang through her ears. Surely this was enough for Thomas to see the error of his ways? He would no doubt send her back to her kingdom, where she would be destined to live forever in disgrace.

The king cut his chuckling short. "Do you mean to mock me, _Lord Riddle_? Surely such a slight on King Charles would spur war."

Thomas voice remained calm. "A war? With the Muggles? It wouldn't be much of a fight, would it?"

"Muggles have their uses," Prince Draco said smugly. "They make a good resource for the front line."

"You know our enemies are amassing an army in the north." King Lucius shot a glance around the room. "Surely you don't need to be informed again of the benefits of aligning with our neighboring kingdoms?"

"Perhaps our illustrious prince should have the honor of uniting such powerful houses." The expression on Thomas' face could only be described as arrogant. It didn't take a wizard to see that he was inciting the king's wrath, so why did he provoke him so?

"I am still holding out hope that a union can be made with the Burrow," King Lucius said, his voice dropping several octaves. "As you are well aware."

"I don't want to wed anyone from there, Father," Prince Draco bit out angrily. "They're far too inferior to have the privilege."

"Is it that?" called a new voice.

Hermione looked up to see a black-haired wizard with green eyes speaking.

"Or is it that the Mage's daughter wants nothing to do with you?"

The prince let out an indignant snort as he reached out to grab an errant curl of the girl sitting beside him—a girl Hermione now noticed was staring daggers at her. "You would think so, _Lord Harold,_ but really it is I that wants nothing to do with her. She's a fiery hellion that comes from a line of Muggle-lovers."

"But they are a fertile line," the king interrupted, "as evidenced by her many brothers. We cannot afford to be this selective, Draco. An heir is all that matters. A union with the Burrow would be highly advantageous should they acquiesce to my request. And the possibility of a magical birth would be greatly in our favor."

"A magical heir," Thomas interjected, "is of the most importance."

"Yes." King Lucius curled his lip, displaying his teeth. "And you must pray that if you're fortunate enough to produce a child with this Muggle foreigner, that your child will not be born a squib." He sat back, and eyed Thomas menacingly. "You've wasted your choice on someone that brings nothing to the table whatsoever. By the looks of her, I'd say she's a few Knuts short of a Galleon. She's shaking like a bloody leaf."

 _I'm cold!_ she thought bitterly. _This dress leaves much uncovered! Of course I'm shaking._ Her gaze narrowed at the floor as she sensed Tom walking away from her and towards the king. The few members of the Court that were present did not stray far from her mind. Hermione wondered if they were family or the privileged elite, or a combination of the two. Why were they permitted to witness such a scolding of a noble? There were not more than ten in attendance, and she was grateful the Court was not fully occupied, but still her embarrassment raged like a wild beast.

"I don't believe it was such a waste, Your Grace." Thomas let out a short laugh at the notion. "I find it quite agreeable to have a wife capable of caring for herself instead of a pampered princess. What's more, she is obedient. My other options were horrendous."

"You could have Imperiused any one of them for all I care," King Lucius snapped. "Now you are stuck with a former commoner you've elevated in status without my permission."

"I had your permission," Thomas told the king darkly. "You said the _most eligible_ maiden that struck my fancy, and I really couldn't have planned for a better option, Your Grace."

Hermione's heart soared at the praise, though it didn't make the least bit of sense. She was hardly a suitable bride for a noble.

"You mock me and you mock this Court," King Lucius growled. "How do you expect us to believe she is the most eligible?"

Thomas said nothing, but then Hermione felt that _pull_ again, and couldn't help but to look up expectantly. Sure enough, he had summoned his magic and was coercing it. He formed a small ball of fire in his hand which grew larger the longer he held it. She watched entranced.

"What is this madness?" The king barked out impatiently.

She couldn't help but wonder the same thing. The members of Court watched alongside her, probably trying to discern just what he was up to. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to be able to figure out her husband or anticipate his next move.

"Hermione," Thomas called to her, flashing a grin, "catch this!"

There was not a second to react as he threw the ball of fire at her and she felt the heat of it approach furiously through the air. She grabbed her head and ducked just when the attack was supposed to hit her straight on. The nerve of him! He brought her all this way only to shame and murder her in a foreign Court! Her rage was palpable, and she snapped upright to face the attack with defiance blazing in her eyes. It was then that she noticed there was _no pain_.

No.

She had felt the force approach her, but it seemed to have transformed into something else when it met her skin. Her eyes widened in surprise when she noticed tiny silver flakes fall from her dress and collect below her noiselessly on the floor. She looked up again - this time uncertainly - and noticed her surprise was mirrored in the eyes of her onlookers. They were pointing at her and whispering behind their hands.

Her eyes flew to her husband's and there was no mistaking the look of triumph that burned in his eyes. He was the picture of smug, as if there had been a battle and he'd come out the victor.

Hermione was baffled into silence.

"Your Grace," Thomas said, facing the king once more. "You asked me to select a wife from Ballycastle and I have selected the most eligible maiden—a magical maiden."

Shocked gasps could be heard throughout the Court and even the king and the prince seemed stunned into silence.

Hermione on the other hand, had found her voice. Pulse hammering at her temples she turned her confused glare on Thomas. "Magical?" she echoed. "You mean to tell me—I'm _a witch_?"

Thomas nodded, absently examining his fingernails. "It would appear so, yes."

"And you didn't think it pertinent to inform me of this before?" Her voice was deathly low as she had to physically restrain herself from launching at the man.

His eyes flashed perilously as he fixed her with a look that said any further comment on her part would be met with retribution. She had questioned him in public - in front of the Court' most elite - but she couldn't bring herself to feel regret over it.

"What is the meaning of this?" King Lucius finally asked.

"She has the strongest protective magic I've ever seen, and she uses it without a wand, without so much as realizing it." Thomas was back in control, enacting his plan effortlessly. "Inherent shielding abilities which I noticed upon our first meeting. Hermione - _my_ Duchess - is a Muggle-born."

"Outrageous!" Prince Draco stood hurriedly to his feet. "You knew if there was a magical one, I was supposed to have her!"

"Then you should have been paying attention," Thomas replied coolly with a careless shrug of his shoulders. "Besides, you already planned on courting Lady Ginevra of the Burrow."

"It goes without saying," King Lucius shrieked. "My son gets the best, _always._ You must renounce her as your wife and hand her over to him immediately."

The Court erupted in chaos.

The black-haired wizard that looked a lot like Thomas, Lord Harold, she remembered, spoke up, "A Muggle-born. Has there been one found in the last decade?"

"Powerful magic," someone else said.

"Did you see what happened to the fire when it met her skin?" another asked.

"She wasn't even holding a wand!"

But Hermione could no longer focus on the words, not when the king was looking at her with those hungry eyes, eyes that matched Prince Draco's. She suddenly felt very much like prey caught in the eyes of a hunter. How would Thomas save her now? Even more perplexing, when had she considered Thomas to be her best option as far as saviors went?

"I regret to inform you that your request is impossible to grant, Excellency." There was a faintly sorrowful expression on Thomas' face that Hermione did not believe to be sincere in the slightest. "We were wed in the most ancient of Pureblood vows and the bonds are sadly, unbreakable. If only I'd have known sooner…"

King Lucius slammed his hands down on the sides of his throne, his face twisted in a harsh frown. "Has the marriage been consummated?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Thomas lied flawlessly.

She was glad the question had not been directed to her. She would have choked on her answer!

"Well I suppose that's that, then." King Lucius exhaled a breath through his nose then turned to face Prince Draco. "The Ginevra girl is your only option. Mage Arthur has agreed to let us host her at Court. Let's hope he agrees to a marriage as well, or it's a Muggle for you." He turned back to Thomas. "Do leave my sight."

 **~oOo*oOo~**

They left the palace in record time and fled through the Floo. Thomas didn't wish to try the king's patience anymore than he already had by staying in his sight. Perhaps he was thinking of a reason to punish him even now, but Thomas had done nothing _wrong,_ in the strictest sense. The king would lose the favor of the people if he took out his anger on Thomas over such a matter.

His deceit had played out beautifully and he would relish replaying it over and over in his head just to see their shocked expressions. Shame on them for mocking him in the first place. Thomas never did things by half measures.

"Ow!" he shouted, looking down at his little Muggle-born wife to see she was pinching his arm and twisting it as hard as she could as they stumbled out of the hearth. He wrenched away from the ferocious creature. "What was that for?"

"You used me!" she shrilled, equally enraged by the look on her face. "You deceived me and nothing you've ever told me has been close to the truth!"

His eyes rolled skyward. "I've told you plenty of truths." He shot her a dark look, remembering how she had questioned him in front of the Court. "I merely didn't tell you _all of it_. And don't think I will be forgetting how you addressed me in the presence of the king."

"It's the least of what you deserved." Her hands dropped to her hips as her hot stare rose in intensity. "And not telling me _all of it_ is the definition of deceit."

"Maybe I didn't know for sure. Call it one final test."

"One final test?" she echoed incredulously. "To throw a ball of fire at my abdomen?"

"I was fairly certain your magic would protect you."

"Fairly certain?"

Her face reddened to crimson and for the first time he felt mild unease, before he remembered that he was far superior to his little wife in every possible way.

"That's right. Ninety-nine percent sure."

His eyes widened in surprise when he felt her hands come up to push him in the chest, so caught off guard he actually stumbled into the wall. Irritated, he reached for her and tangled his hand in her hair as he hauled her forward roughly, her feet scraping along the wood. He threw her down none-too-gently on the sofa, but that didn't deter her from coming after him a second time.

"Calm down, wild beast," he said as he crawled over her and grabbed her hands to restrain her. "Surely you see that even now I've done what's best for you."

"You've done what's best for you!" she accused, trying to break from his grasp. "I just happen to be a _convenient opportunity_."

He grabbed her forcefully and spun her around before wrapping his arms around her torso. He pulled her into his lap and finally felt her go lax. He didn't relinquish his grip, however, especially if she meant to play possum before going at him again.

"Would you rather you belonged to the prince?" he asked around her mass of hair already escaping the pins thanks to her unladylike behavior. "I'm sure he would be _most considerate_ with you."

Her sharp nails - talons, rather - dug into his hands where he held her. "You lied to him about the consummation. Perhaps it is a lie that I am completely yours as you claimed I am."

His fingers dug punishingly into the bare flesh of her forearms. "Don't presume to threaten me, _Dear Wife._ " He squeezed her harder still until she stopped writhing against him. The pale skin of her neck and the part of her back that was bared to him was enough to distract him for a moment. "Or perhaps you are suggesting that we complete our union now?"

She tensed in his arms and made to look wildly over her shoulder at him, but Thomas stopped her by latching onto her neck, unable to resist catching her off guard especially when she was being so difficult. She let out a gasp of astonishment and then renewed her efforts to break free of him.

"Do keep wiggling against me, _sweet, loyal_ wife," he encouraged. "It does make it so much more exciting."

She relaxed instantly and he laughed.

"I am loyal." There was a tremble in her voice.

"Oh?" Thomas didn't stop nuzzling her neck, counting it as a personal triumph when gooseflesh spread over her skin.

"And I can be sweet so long as I'm not being betrayed."

"Is that a threat? You're hardly in a position to make them." Thomas widened his legs and got more comfortable with her, loosening his grip as he tried to determine what exactly she smelled like. Wildflowers and citrus mixed with untapped _power_. It was heady. He began to forget why he was supposed to be angry with her in favor of more pleasurable pursuits. His plans were seeing fruition and his new wife was turning out to be a delight - for the most part - perhaps it was time to enjoy her fully.

"It's not a threat." She tilted her head over her neck in an effort to block him, but he only switched sides. "I'm only trying to communicate my feelings. Is that not what a wife and husband do?"

"I don't care much for feelings."

He licked a line from her neck to her shoulder and she made a sound of protest. "You said you would wait to do such things."

"I believe it was you who initiated this. Must mean you're ready."

"Well I'm _not_."

Thomas sighed and pulled away from her, but he didn't release her. "Fine. Though I'm starting to believe you're something of a tease."

She huffed and tried to glare at him from over her shoulder, but the effect was somewhat ruined given her vulnerable position.

He rested his head against the cushion, still feeling the rush of victory. Things had worked out exactly as he had intended them to. The king had set out to play him, and had been played in return. What was more, he had been right in regards to Hermione. She really was a Muggle-born - a precious gem hidden among common stones - and she was his.

He couldn't help but smirk when he remembered the way the fire had shifted to water before reaching her and dissipating into a ball of harmless flakes before brushing off her and falling to the floor. They knew what she was then - a witch - and the mockers and neigh-sayers could do nothing but swallow their own words.

What was more, he had challenged the king - albeit subtly - and there was nothing he could do in retaliation. Gradually people would come to see that Thomas was more fit to be a leader than anyone in the Malfoy line. He was capable of anticipating the moves of his enemies and coming up with calculating plans others were unable to expect. He discovered buried treasures where some did not bother to look twice.

"How did you know?" Hermione asked him quietly, somewhat more relaxed against his chest.

She didn't need to elaborate. He knew exactly what she meant.

"I felt the pull of your magic." He peered at her through hooded eyes, still feeling the desire she had fanned in him. "In the wizarding world, we have a spell that repels Muggles from noticing us, and you were using it." In truth, he wondered if maybe that was the reason Hermione was so oblivious to the ways of men. Perhaps her inherent shielding ability had protected her innocence, in a way. It would explain the unusual purity coming from a common chambermaid. "I've long since trained myself to recognize magical traces." He ran an errant finger of her bare shoulder, watching as she shivered in response. "And there was the time when you breached my wards."

"I thought you said that was due to the vows."

"Due to your magic, rather."

"I didn't realize I was using spells, but that would explain... _so many things._ " She swallowed thickly and Thomas thought that maybe she was sad. Her life had been lonely and the fact that she carried this gift a secret she never found out until now.

"I thought I was crazy. I tried to make it go away."

"You should embrace it," he told her quietly, his tone much softer. "Not only does it make you special, but it puts you above other humans. You can bend magic to your will. You only need someone to teach you."

She twisted her upper body to look at him, and this time he allowed the movement. "You will teach me?"

He nodded, attempting to conceal the hunger from his eyes. "Your magic is instinctual. It will not be so hard to learn, and you will not find a better teacher."

Her eyes gleamed at the prospect, and some of the wariness seemed to fall away. "I think I would like that very much."

Drawing his hands from her shoulders down to her wrists, he brought them back up again in a gesture meant to be soothing. She didn't recoil from his touch as she had been prone to do before, and he called that progress. "You may get a wand tomorrow when you are fitted for your dresses."

"That's...kind of you."

"What sort of husband would I be if I didn't see to all your needs? Besides, you are a magical being and you belong here."

Her eyelashes fluttered and she gave him a small smile through half-lidded eyes. "I'm sorry for doubting you. Perhaps you really do know what's best."

She laid back to rest her head on his chest, her soft curls tickling his chin. He inwardly delighted over all of his accomplishments this day. He secured his future with a wife of his own selection, planted seeds of doubt in the mind's of the other nobles, and was gradually beginning to establish trust with Hermione. It wouldn't be long until she placed _all_ of her faith in him.

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is a fun chapter I think. Enter Lady Pansy and with her comes some mischief. A few have asked about Harry and his role and more of that is addressed here. Thank you so much for the feedback C: Happy reading Xx**

 **Beta love to NikkiB and Kreeblim Sabs**

 **Shout out to followers, favorite-ers, and reviewers:** **Hermione Lyra Malfoy-Riddle** **,** **mangoandpassionfruit, SereniteRose, Fizzybaby8, N love K, AnnaOxford, 2711Kyree, mega700201, leonix2009, Calindy, Sasha404, Hagu,** **and the guests!**

* * *

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Lady Pansy was proving to be a rather gracious host. Hermione had been expecting a vicious witch to walk through the doors of Salazar Castle based on her husband's claim that she _wasn't nice_ and based on Hermione's own experience at King Lucius' Court. Lady Pansy turned out to be the same woman that had been cozy with the prince and had eyed Hermione shrewdly, yet perhaps Hermione had only imagined the malice she'd registered in her gaze.

"You poor dear," Pansy had crooned once Thomas left the room. "Everything you have been through...why—it's simply appalling!"

Hermione blinked and ducked her eyes. "It's all right, truly."

"But you must be so surprised," Pansy pressed on earnestly. "To have come from Ballycastle to Wiltshire alone must be such a culture shock. I've never been, but I have heard. Boys do like tourneys, and they do like to talk. They have spoken of the simple living conditions."

Hermione's eyes rose. "Simple, Lady Pansy?"

"Mundane. I'd just die of boredom in a place like that. A life with no magic is no life at all. You'll soon see."

Among all the concerns that weighed heavily on Hermione's chest, she desperately wanted to learn about the exciting new kingdom she found herself in. This time when Pansy led her back into the village and Hermione became swept up in the excitement once more, she did not cower in fear but assessed her surroundings with bright budding hunger. She was curious about the odd inhabitants of the magical kingdom and all the different wares sold at market.

Her eyes roved over brightly colored vials displayed in an Apothecary store window. "What are these, Lady Pansy?"

"Those?" Pansy's eyes wandered to where Hermione gestured. "Oh, those are just potions, dear."

"Potions." Hermione turned the word over in her mind. "What purpose do they serve?"

"Well they have a wide range of uses." Pansy's voice took on an instructive edge to it as they continued down the cobblestone street. "Some potions are used for healing while others are used for poison. There are potions to stave off the effects of lycanthropy - werewolfism - that can make you breathe underwater, make someone become your best friend, or even force a person fall in love with you." Pansy wagged her eyebrows suggestively at this.

Hermione blanched at the explanation. There appeared to be so many dangers to look out for in this world. She wanted to know how ill intent through the use of potions was avoided and what laws there were against using them, but she didn't wish to bother her host with a barrage of questions. Instead she remained quiet and studied her surroundings curiously as they passed an Owlrey on their way to the dress shoppe.

Upon arriving to Madam Milkan's Boutique, Pansy swept through the doors like a queen expecting the attendant to drop her current clients immediately and tend to them.

"The Duchess and I are really pressed on time," she said whilst examining her nails. "I do hope you have something new here with which to dazzle us. We don't care to look at material from last season."

Hermione allowed Pansy to speak for her, hoping that the girl knew best as everything looked perfectly fine to Hermione. She eyed the magical measurement stick with trepidation as it flitted through the air around her, while being poked and prodded by the attendant. Occasionally, Pansy would ask her opinion on color or which lace style she preferred, but otherwise Pansy made all the decisions. Hermione was far too caught up in a whirlwind of wonder to voice any complaints.

After spending several hours being fitted for dresses, the girls finally took their leave and headed to a pub for lunch.

"We can Floo back to your castle from here," Pansy offered, gesturing to the busy Floo.

Dejection briefly flitted across Hermione's face. She did so enjoy being out in the kingdom where she could watch the peculiar people so different from any she had come across before. Gone were her reservations about being gobbled up by some monster. Magic coursed in her veins just like it did theirs, and like Thomas had told her before—she belonged.

"Don't be sad, dear." Pansy's sharp eyes missed nothing. "The Duke does want his lovely Duchess back in a timely manner, I'm sure. He would be positively livid with me if I kept you out longer than necessary." She smiled widely but Hermione noted that it did not reach her eyes. "But don't worry, we can have a spot of fun before our time is up." Pansy's resultant wink was rife with mischief.

Feeling famished from not eating very much since her arrival, Hermione ordered the soup of the day along with a crust of bread and cheese. She was about to ask for milk, but Pansy shushed her and instead requested two tankards of ale. Hermione blushed at the scandalous request, but said nothing, believing that her highbred host knew best.

Soon the food and the drink had arrived and Hermione was content to listen and indulge in her hearty meal as Pansy went on and on about the politics of Court. The witch seemed to think it was her duty to get Hermione caught up to speed on all she had missed.

"So you see, the Court is simply in an absolute frenzy over the new arrivals. Ginevra of the Burrow is said to be arriving with two of her brothers as escorts, and there is no love lost between her brothers and the prince. Prince Draco will have to be on his best behavior if he has any hope of Mage Arthur agreeing to King Lucius' marriage proposal." Pansy leaned forward conspiratorially. "It's very difficult though, you know, because the Malfoys are a proud family with very old magical blood. To be dependent on a house that has outright spurned them over the years is causing much difficulty for everyone. Poor, sweet Draco."

Hermione couldn't help but arch a brow at this description of the prince she had come to know.

"He deserves a wife who will dote on him. I hear the Mage's daughter is quite feisty and has been known to speak out against the prince. She called him a spoilt, rotten brat, I believe it was. It was during an envoy the Malfoy royals took to the Burrow - out of _favor_ \- but instead of appreciating their attempt at peace, the Weasley family were quite unwelcoming." Pansy took a deep breath and sighed. "It really is a tragic happenstance. This was not the way of things in the days of old. The prince would have no problem finding a spouse worthy of binding herself with him. But what with the infertility issues Wiltshire is facing, there is no other option but to look elsewhere. Even to Muggles, if we must." Pansy wrinkled her nose, as if the thought alone was a threat to peace everywhere.

"You seem very comfortable with the prince, Lady Pansy," Hermione said quietly. "Could not a marriage arrangement be made with the two of you?"

Pansy's eyes softened imperceptibly before hardening to their usual shrewdness once more. "We are cousins, unfortunately. The chances of producing an heir between us are slim based on our relation. It seems everyone in the kingdom is a cousin of some sort. My father has even spoken of aligning with a well-to-do Muggle family, but I really hope it doesn't come to _that_."

"How tragic."

"Yes, it's all very unusual. So you see, the Duke of Salazar was very clever to have discovered and wedded you like he did. He no longer faces the threat of a childless union or a babe born a squib. These are dark times for the kingdom."

Hermione hoped Pansy was correct in this assessment. Knowing her luck, she would find herself barren all the same. The notion of failing the Duke after he so cleverly discovered her in a kingdom of Muggles was enough to make her sick with worry.

After Pansy encouraged Hermione to finish her ale, she then ordered firewhisky.

Bile crept up Hermione's throats as she recalled the taste of the copper-colored liquid. "I don't think I shall have any, Lady Pansy."

"Don't be a prude, dear," Pansy chided. "And you can hardly leave me here drinking by myself. It wouldn't be proper."

Hermione gulped down her worry and when the drink came, she accepted it.

"Of course there will be many parties and balls this season, what with the new arrivals." Pansy's lips twisted in a half smirk. "Everyone who matters will be in attendance. You will get a chance to meet all of the nobility of Wiltshire, not just family whom you saw at Court before."

"So that man arguing with the prince - the one with the black hair - he was related to the king?"

Pansy grimaced. "Sort of. Lord Harold is the result of a lucky union between a Muggle and Lord James. His parents are both dead now, but he is the ward of Sirius Black. So you see, he and your husband the Duke are cousins of a sort. Lord Harry stays at Potter Castle."

"I haven't heard my husband speak of Lord Harold before. The only relative I know of is Lord Sirius." The firewhisky was going down easier and easier. Before she knew it, the stuff was gone and Pansy discreetly signaled for more.

"He wouldn't." Pansy's eyes sparkled with amusement. "The Duke and the Lord of Potter Castle do not get along so well."

"Why not?"

"Differing view of politics, I suppose. School rivals. Lord Harold was not on friendly terms with the prince or any of his chums. But he is still the last of the ancient house of Potter, and so his antics are tolerated."

Hermione was beginning to feel funny—like she was somehow lighter, but heavier at the same time. Heat coursed through her veins and settled at her temples. She was vaguely aware of Pansy's stare focused solely on her. "I was hoping to get a wand," the words sort of rushed together, "Thomas promised to teach me." A third glass of firewhisky was placed in front of her and Hermione waved it away as dizziness surged in her brain. "Oh no, I simply couldn't. I've overindulged, I believe Thomas will be angry with me."

" _Thomas_ ," Pansy mimicked with an edge of cruelty. She sat back and folded her arms across her chest, a wisdom passing through her gaze Hermione could not fathom for the moment. "What do you know about Thomas, dear? You know, of all the wizards in the kingdom, he is of least relation to me. I had hoped...but no. It wasn't to be. And now I am to face life with a commoner and a potential squib for my first son. You are quite lucky, and you don't even realize it. Maybe you don't deserve it."

Pansy's words were running together in Hermione's head, not making very much sense. "Lady Pansy?" Her brows knitted together in confusion. The room spun and suddenly the laughter of the pub occupants rang through her ears.

Pansy's sharp laugh pierced through the indistinguishable noise. "Come on, Sweet Duchess. It's time we got you home safe and sound to your castle."

Hermione did not even remember the journey. There was a brief flash of stumbling through the line of occupants to use the crowded Floo. The violent retch of her stomach as her body was stretched and pulled through dimensions. She could recall tripping and falling as she reached the sitting room of Salazar Castle. Currently, the odd sensation of spinning was preventing her from successfully climbing up the ottoman so she might perch on furniture instead of the floor. Somehow through the haze, Hermione could see Pansy pouring a glass of firewhisky from Thomas' crystal decanter and setting it on the table above Hermione's head. _Oh no. This will simply not be good at all._

Pansy bent down and peered at Hermione. "You are quite right, you know. Your Lord Husband does not fancy his ladies _drunk._ He finds it sloppy and distasteful." She reached out and caressed Hermione's cheek with the palm of her hand. "Good luck, little Mudblood. That's what you get for getting in the way."

The witch made her way to the Floo but all Hermione saw were a kaleidoscope of Pansys. Hermione felt wretched and truly worried now. Thomas would arrive to find her at any moment and what would he say when he discovered her disgraceful position? Through the fear, Hermione felt giddy with laughter and made another effort to pull herself up onto the furniture. Whatever happened, it was sure to be a spectacle.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

At first glance, Thomas liked what he saw.

Hermione appeared to be the quintessential Pureblood Princess complete with the poise to suite the title.

Until he noticed the strain.

It was there at the corner of her eyes and then in the way she clenched her hands in her lap, as if she were holding on for dear life lest she fall. It was in the tense way in which she held herself, the slight lean to the left and her jerky overcorrection.

"Where are the rest of your dresses?" His eyes scanned the table next to her, taking note of the half-filled glass of firewhisky. Disapproval bloomed in his chest. He distinctly remembered telling her she needed his express permission to indulge in spirits.

"They will be arriving shortly, my—Thomas." Her voice was slightly roughened, husky from disuse.

Allowing the furious rage to shine through his eyes, he looked down at her. He felt pleasantly sated when she shrunk back from him in fear.

"And this drink beside you?"

She peered to the guilty looking glass which sat on the table before looking back at him and blinking innocently. "It isn't mine, Thomas." Her eyes widened in fear. "I know you don't like your ladies to drink."

He swiftly bent down and pulled her up from her seated position, dragging her with him as he pulled her to his office. He was surprised at how frequently she tripped and would have fell if not for his steady hand. Irritated, he stopped and straightened her once and for all.

"Then why did you?" he drawled, addressing her earlier statement as he took a firmer grip of her arm.

She neglected to answer as they reached his office. His eyes drew to the collection of wands he had requested from Gregorovitch's that he'd been eager to show her before her ill advised transgression. He stepped her back into the wall and caged her with both of his hands resting on each side of her face.

"You meant to incite my wrath purposefully?" There was a threatening edge to his voice, a hidden warning she surely couldn't miss. "How curious."

She swallowed convulsively. "No," she stammered, trying in vain to shrink away from him. "It was an accident, really."

He scoffed loudly. "Are you saying someone else is to blame?"

For a moment, hope surged in her eyes, before it deflated and vanished. "No, just me alone."

Now that was curious. Thomas was always good at spotting a lie, and he could tell his flighty little wife would hardly disobey him without provocation. In an instant, he knew just what had occurred. The frigid bitch of a witch he had set up to be her guide for the day had got her well and truly drunk in the hopes of displeasing him, no doubt. Pansy was as jealous as she was vicious, and she was toying with Hermione. Yet he did find it surprising that Hermione did not try to pin the mishap on Pansy right from the beginning. Surely she was frightened, so why didn't she shift the blame on someone else? His lips curled into a smile. There was no way of knowing what passed through Hermione's mind, but he would have fun with her, just the same.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

When his eyes went from wrathful to downright wicked in a span of seconds, Hermione then became truly fearful.

Damn Pansy and her schemes of revenge! Hermione had done nothing to her, and now Thomas was on the verge of punishing her for her disobedience! Some of the haze cleared from her brain as the adrenaline thrummed at her temples. She was still feeling the effects of the alcohol, but the added mixture of alarm made for a heady mixture.

Thomas was closing in on her from all sides, looking as furious as a vengeful angel - a fallen one at that - and Hermione wanted badly to escape his clutches.

"I didn't take you for a rebel, Hermione," he said silkily, the ghost of his breath whispering against her neck. "Actually, I pegged you for a rather good girl."

She frowned, swallowing her unease. "Well, I am a good girl." It felt funny telling him so, and when a ragged breath left his nostrils Hermione could not help but feel like she said the wrong thing.

"Hermione," there was no mistaking the underlying fondness in his voice "you're so funny."

She bristled. "I'm not trying to be." Could he not simply drop his hands and step away from her? They were practically breathing the same air and it was becoming hard to focus. Her husband could be so... _convincing._ And when she was in this state, she wasn't sure what exactly she would let him do.

"Just admit you intended to rile me."

His smirk was almost teasing, as if he found her antics adorable or something. Her ire warred with her trepidation. "I did no such thing."

"It's all right, Hermione."

And then his right hand did the most wonderful thing and dropped from the side of her face. She felt like she could breathe! Until it came up again, this time gripping her hip instead of the wall. A squeamish feeling settled in the pit of her belly as she stared into his hooded eyes.

"You should be happy." He skimmed his lips over her neck, eliciting a shiver. "You've won." His voice was seduction, having the effect of fogging her already dizzy brain. "Consider me provoked."

Hermione gasped when she felt him latch over a spot on her neck, sucking over a pulse point. She writhed in his grasp in a pathetic attempt to break free, but he only took her right hand and held it above her head as he stepped closer and pinned her in between his hard body and the wall. His pleasant scent assaulted her, or maybe it drugged her, she couldn't be sure. All she knew was heat was rushing through her veins and it seemed to have culminated from that spot on her neck where Thomas was sucking.

It actually... _didn't hurt_.

No.

There was a word for how it felt.

 _Pleasurable._

Her chest heaved at the revelation, and she quit trying to break away. Spurred on by her compliance, the hand at her hip began gliding over the silk of dress, drawing sensations that made her feel even hotter. The fear flooding her mind disappeared to be replaced with something _toxic._ Thomas' beauty was almost painful to behold and he was making her feel this way - like she was weightless - like a fire had been ignited in her and it wouldn't stop.

A whimper escaped her throat and the hand gripping his wrist relaxed. She felt him smile against her neck.

"I think the lady likes it," he whispered, his breath tickling her skin.

He kissed a line up the column of her throat and she couldn't help arching her chest. What was causing her to move like that was a mystery to her but she couldn't help shifting her body. She blamed it on the traveling heat which left a fiery trail in its wake.

Thomas traced his hand up the side of her chest before he cupped her chin and tilted her head. The side of her breast tingled where his fingers had just skimmed, but it was hard to expound on that when his velvet lips brushed hers. For the first time, she didn't clamp her mouth shut and clench her teeth. She allowed him to nibble on her lower lip before outright sucking on it. Her free hand wrapped around his shoulder while the other stayed restrained above her head.

Clarity burst through the fog and she realized with sudden desperation that she wanted to kiss him back. Her fingers tightened around his shoulder as her lips tentatively moved with his. He tasted like something heady and forbidden that she couldn't get enough of. How had she been afraid of this before? It was... _beyond_ enjoyable. Had she not been so tense with worry she might have realized how wonderful it could be, but alas she hadn't been able to relax like this the first time he kissed her.

His tongue slipped into her mouth and sought out hers. She made a sound of surprise and stiffened. Fingers tangled in her hair and tugged her head back and then to the side so he could better explore the cavern of her mouth. Her heart hammered against her chest as her breathing quickened. The caress of his tongue laced fire through her mouth and all the way down to her belly. Soon she was kissing him back with equal fervor, allowing Thomas to guide her in his skillful explorations.

Desire spread through her, causing her to feel rather delirious. The sensations were so unlike anything else she'd experienced, she wasn't quite sure what to do. Luckily, Thomas knew exactly and Hermione was happy to let him dominate. Vaguely, she registered the absence of his hand on her scalp. It descended down her back and - to her shock - her bum! Her pinned arm fell forward weightlessly when he released it. He grabbed her from behind and pressed her forward against him where she felt the clear result of their intense kissing in the form of his arousal.

She gasped away from the kiss, panting as Thomas gave her a measured look. Hermione couldn't help but stare right into those mesmerizing eyes.

"Interesting," his eyes skimmed down her chest to where he held her securely around the waist, pressed up against him. Hermione followed his gaze before lifting her eyes again languidly. "Now when I kiss you, _darling_ , I expect you won't turn me away again."

A fierce blush crept up her face at the use of his pet name. She shook her head, feeling somewhat in a daze.

He chuckled and the dark inflection of his laugh caused her heart to stutter. "Very good. I think I shall like very much to see you lose control."

His words were lost to her, but slowly the gravity of what they had done sunk through the pleasurable confusion. He was speaking of their coupling - he had to be! - and Hermione could hardly think about that without causing herself to worry. Her trepidation sparked back to life. Would Thomas spend a lot of time making her feel good as he had done now before he put her through so much pain later? She could only hope, but sometimes her husband could be so cruel.

"Cheer up, darling." He stepped away and linked her arm through his. "I've brought you here to choose from one of these wands I've procured for you."

Hermione took a shuddering breath as her eyes landed on the long, rectangular boxes sitting on the oak desk.

"You ought to be thanking me."

"I—, um...thank you, Thomas."

He fixed her with one of his dark smiles she was beginning to associate with him. On unsteady feet she approached the desk and tried to listen to what Thomas was telling her about her wand selection. It was a hard feat to manage, however, especially with her mind still reeling from that kiss. One thought came up more prominent than the others. She had expected everything which involved a husband and wife joining to be accompanied by pain and discomfort, but those were hardly the feelings she had experienced. She closed her eyes briefly against the tirade of emotions that threatened to assault her when she thought about their kiss. Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been _that._ Hermione wasn't an optimist by nature, but she couldn't help but wonder if she was wrong about kissing, what else she could be wrong about.

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I really wanted to get some updates in on my birthday weekend! I'm not sure how many I'll manage but this is an easy one as it's already written, just not beta'd. This is probably my favorite chapter so far, but it may not be everyone's cup of tea. *shrug* I'm embracing my kinks. Do let me know what you think if you feel so inclined! Happy reading Xx**

 _ **-Additional Warnings-  
**_ **Attempted non-con, dub-con, gratuitous smut**

 **Shout out to followers, favorite-ers, and reviewers:** **Elle Morgan-Black,** **Hermione Lyra Malfoy-Riddle, mega700201, SereniteRose, Wynter Phoenix, Honoria Granger, Penopy, KaraTEKID, Sasha404, Fizzybaby8, ii-V-I, leonix2009, marana1, bloodoftheenemy, Vaneia, erRONEYous,** **and the guests!**

* * *

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Two men met under the protective cover of a willow tree. Heads swiveled from side to side and spells flitted from holly and yew wood to shield the sound of their voices. Under the blanket of nightfall the duo went largely unnoticed.

The man with the grey fur coat appraised the other with thinly veiled calculation. "So dramatic, meeting here. Why didn't you just Floo me?"

"You know the Floos are being watched," defended the other wizard shrouded in black leather. "The king is a paranoid man."

"Yes, but it wouldn't be so suspicious for _you_ to call on me."

"Would not your wife take notice?"

"A pointless concern. What information do you have for me?"

He sighed, casting an hard, emerald glare to his compatriot. "The movements of the south haven't gone unnoticed."

"War is brewing. This isn't news."

"War is _certain,_ and it's coming. King Grindel—."

The other shushed him. "Don't speak his name here."

"Fine. The _northern king_ has not been blind to the desperate alliances being made. They are preparing to make their move and they're leery of _us_. They wonder why they haven't heard from their spy."

The man in grey narrowed his gaze in blatant irritation. "Their spy was in fact a turncoat, and has been dealt with. They should not doubt us, not when we want what they want."

"The freedom to live out of hiding."

The wizard pulled his fur coat tighter around his head. "Muggles in their rightful place of deference."

"I assured them that our position hasn't wavered."

"Then let them come, while everyone is distracted by the royal guests." He shot the green eyed wizard a shrewd stare. "And don't let yourself be distracted, especially by the prince's pet."

"She is not the prince's," the green eyed wizard said with a snarl.

"For now she is. At least until our backup arrives. And then we make our move."

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione awoke with the sunlight streaming over her face. She stretched languidly on her bed, feeling rather odd. There was a certain twisting sensation in her abdomen. She rolled to her side and then blushed crimson when the steady thrum of her dreams came rushing back to her.

She'd dreamt of _Thomas._

And it was not the innocent sort of nonsensical dreams she was often visited by, no, these were of another variation entirely. The pit of her abdomen throbbed in painful reminder of just how intense her dreams had been. The kiss they had shared the night prior had seemed to spur on a tirade of images she was helpless to stave off, even in her sleep. Her imagination had always been active, it was a given that it should work tirelessly even in sleep.

She sat up with jerk and took careful measures to smooth out the wrinkles in her nightgown. Why Thomas' lips should be the most prevalent thought on her mind was impossible to discern.

They had been everywhere.

His lips...

On her neck and her jaw and her cheek and her mouth.

Her fingers flew to her own lips, as if she could feel the ghost of his presence there. The feelings she woke up to were most unusual. She wasn't even aware why she was thinking about him in such a pleasurable way—the man was entirely too vexing! How he could appear so charming one moment and so cruel another she was sure she'd never know, nor would she get used to it.

Only one thing was certain—the arrival of Thomas in her life had flipped her world upside down.

Nothing would ever be the same and she was just beginning to navigate this new world she'd been thrust into. The possibilities for learning were endless, and really, she could never grow bored in Wiltshire like she had in Ballycastle. Her husband had so kindly given her a Charms book with the explicit order of reading and memorizing the wand movements and incantations for each spell before their first lesson. She couldn't be more excited at the prospect of him tutoring her. She'd seen with her own eyes how much power the man could wield.

A soft pop in her room brought her attention back to her surroundings.

"I's here to get Mistress ready," the bright-eyed elf said helpfully, looking far kinder than Kreacher had.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Ready for what exactly, Hokey?"

"Miss Pansy is to be taking Mistress to the castle today, Master says."

She rolled her eyes and begrudgingly hauled herself from her comfortable sheets. " _Pansy_ ," she spat the name distastefully. "Just lovely."

Hokey reared back as if afraid of her Mistress' sour attitude, her wide eyes going wider. "Don't you want Hokey to be helping Mistress?"

Glancing at the elf and feeling wretched, Hermione forced a smile on her face. "Of course I do. I would be so appreciative."

Hokey beamed.

"I only wish to go anywhere but with _her_ at the moment." She strode over to the bureau and opened the cherry wood doors, her eyes scanning over the newly delivered gowns. She was struck again by how different the style was in Wiltshire when compared to Ballycastle. The people were definitely less concerned with showing skin. Many of the long ball gowns had no straps at all, and the ones that did tended to leave the shoulders bare. "What should I wear, Hokey, do you have any suggestions?"

The elf preened at being asked for advice and quickly selected several gowns for Hermione to choose from that Hokey assured her would be appropriate for the occasion. Hermione ended up selecting a chocolate off the shoulder ball gown with an ombre overlay. She was thankful for the short sleeves, even though they still bared her shoulders. It was the more modest choice and the color accentuated her hair.

Hokey helped her dress before proceeding to pin her curls loosely on top of her head in a manner she'd seen many ladies wear their hair since her arrival. The elf then had Hermione sit in front of her mirror while she applied cosmetics Hermione wasn't sure how to use herself. They were things she'd seen on the princesses' dressers before, but was not familiar to their uses. Hermione still would not have any clue how to manually apply them, as the helpful elf did so magically. With a snap of her fingers, Hokey brushed something over Hermione's eyelids, cheeks, and eyelashes. The whole process was fairly quick and not as much of a chore as she had imagined it would be.

"You can do wandless magic too?" Hermione asked, brows drawn curiously.

"Elf magic be different than wizard magic, Mistress."

Hermione nodded and straightened to her feet before turning to face the mirror. Her reflection momentarily surprised her. She'd never seen her eyes shadowed before, however subtle Hokey had been, and even the light blushing on her cheek seemed to make a huge difference. The gown was actually quite gorgeous and for the first time Hermione felt like she looked the part of a duchess.

Looked the part, but surely didn't feel it.

Hokey showed Hermione where witches wore their wands at their waists and she thanked the little elf for her help.

Then, clenching her fists in resolve, she headed to the parlour to await her oh-so-generous-host.

She didn't have to wait long, as Pansy was already there waiting for her.

"Lady Pansy," Hermione greeted coolly, inclining her head fractionally.

Pansy dipped low in a curtsy. "Duchess." When she straightened, there was a curious gleam in her eye, as if Pansy were trying to figure Hermione out. "You look lovely."

Hermione fought back a snort and chose not to return the compliment. "What revelry have you scheduled for us today?" Her gaze sharpened, on alert and determined not to be made a fool again.

Pansy smiled, and this time, it did reach her eyes. "I don't understand you, My Lady. I would have expected you to complain to your husband, but I received no Howler?"

Frowning in confusion and biting her tongue from asking what a _Howler_ was, she gripped the skirt of her gown. "I didn't cry to the duke, if that's what you mean."

The brunette witch's brows rose in surprise. "I'm impressed. It would have been the easy way out."

A frustrated sigh escaped Hermione's throat. "I just didn't see the point."

Pansy's smile widened. "Maybe I misjudged you?" She strode forward and reached both of her hands out, lifting her eyes in question.

Hermione stared at Pansy's outstretched hands dubiously. Her mind told her to be on high alert, but Pansy seemed to be sincere. Maybe she deserved another chance at friendship? After all, Hermione was decidedly lacking in the _friends department_. She tentatively took Pansy's hands in hers.

"I'd like us to be friends." Pansy's eyes sparkled with mischief, but in a way that made Hermione want to join her in her adventures.

"Friends?" Hermione arched a brow. "Is that how you treat a potential friend the first time you meet them?"

The witch shrugged her shoulders. "I had to see what you were made of. And it seems that you, Duchess, are made of stronger stuff."

Hermione felt a smirk tugging at her lips. "You may call me Hermione if you wish."

Pansy gave Hermione's hands a light squeeze before pulling her towards the hearth. "Come on, then, _Hermione._ It's time for you to meet all those mad nobles I was telling you about." Together they stepped in the Floo and Pansy grabbed a handful of dust. "To Wiltshire Castle!"

Hermione was wary of meeting some of the people Pansy had mentioned to her on their prior visit, but she forced the trepidation aside and attempted to appear sure and confident.

What they arrived to was hardly the strict and stuffy affair she had anticipated.

The nobles sat on various seating arrangements right before the open balcony. The balcony appeared to have a garden - if not a forest - growing on it. She could smell the floral scent wafting in the indoor-outdoor space. The room they were in had a vaulted ceiling that was somehow transparent, and naturally lit the room. There were gorgeous flower arrangements and tables filled with various tarts and treats along with a lavish tea service. Once her eyes grew somewhat accustomed to the room, Hermione then noticed the nobles themselves.

She'd never seen so many people with ginger-colored hair! There were six men sitting somewhat off to themselves and talking with Lord Harold and Sir Theodore. There was one woman who sat at another table, with her brothers, Hermione presumed, sitting at a table close behind her. The striking witch seemed to be holding court herself. Prince Draco sat to her left looking decidedly sulky. There were two other wizards she didn't recognize sitting near the Crown Prince. Several other ladies she hadn't met before looked on fondly at the newcomer as she spoke animatedly, seemingly used to having the attention on her and unfazed by it.

Her eyes snapped up at the arrival of Pansy and Hermione.

"Oh!" She clapped her hands together in front of her chest. "And this must be the new duchess I've heard so much about. You know, people seem unable to talk about little else, but I suppose finding a Muggle-born is rather like spotting a stray kelpie." Her eyes scanned Hermione with unabashed curiosity. "And you are lovely, they didn't exaggerate about that. Different in an exotic sort of way. A welcome addition to this kingdom and it's obsession with conventional beauty. Wiltshire is known for its superficialness, of course. I do hope you will find it to your liking though."

The prince cast her an incredulous glance. "Do you ever keep your thoughts to yourself?"

The redhead pointedly ignored him.

Pansy took a deep breath before exhaling it slowly. "My Lady Duchess, this is Lady Ginevra of the Burrow."

Hermione snapped her mouth shut, realizing she had been gaping most unbecomingly.

Lady Ginevra got up from her seat and took several strides towards her until she was close enough to take Hermione's hands in hers. "You can call me Ginevra, and I'm sure we will be friends—I've seen it!"

She pulled Hermione through the throng of people and sat back down in her seat, shooting a curly-haired witch a look until she made room for Hermione. Pansy trailed after them, looking distinctly unamused.

"Lady Ginevra fancies herself a Seer," Prince Draco drawled and Hermione wasn't sure if that little tid bit of information was supposed to be for her benefit or not.

Lady Ginevra slapped him playfully in the chest but enough so that he reared backwards and had the gall to look affronted. "I have an affinity for Divination, _dear Draco_ knows it's true—don't tease."

Remembering herself, Hermione rushed to speak. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ginevra."

"Please call me Ginevra. I don't much care to fuss with titles."

"Me either," Hermione admitted before she could stop herself. She glanced up to look at the faces of the girls she had yet to meet. Not all of them seemed very friendly and she thought it was best to keep her guard up. Ginevra of the Burrow just seemed to have the effect of making her feel relaxed. She found her tongue beginning to loosen like her hostess' was already.

"You do know Parvati and her sister Padma and Lavender and Tracey and Millicent." Ginevra's hands gestured around to point out the girls she named and Hermione's eyes followed in a vain attempt to commit the names to memory. "You'll surely see them often, anyway. They are frequently throwing parties or balls or other such frivolities."

"Ginevra," the one Ginevra had indicated was called Lavender hissed, her eyes narrowed. "You seem to like our balls and parties well enough."

"Or my brothers do and they just drag me along." Ginevra gave a careless shrug.

Prince Draco scoffed. "And we are all _so thankful_ they do."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Pansy get the prince's attention and exchange a meaningful glance with him. She then remembered the king saying Prince Draco should try and woo Ginevra of the Burrow at all costs. In Hermione's opinion, the prince was doing a horrible job. He seemed to deplore her, and the feeling appeared to be mutual. Hermione felt a brief moment of pity for them both.

"And where is the illustrious duke today?" Ginevra studied Hermione with interest. "Will we be deprived the privilege of his presence?"

Hermione swallowed. "Illustrious?"

"He's known throughout the kingdoms."

Prince Draco snorted at this.

"Does enjoy the tourneys," Ginevra continued. "Though at the Burrow and in Wiltshire we conduct the festivities a bit differently. I suppose the Hollow always did too—"

"You'd dare speak of _them_?" Prince Draco spat, an edge of cruelty laced in his voice. "Our _shared_ enemy?"

"Well," Ginevra appeared unfazed though Hermione wished only to will herself invisible, "we used to travel between kingdoms. Would you rather I pretended like we didn't? Oh, that's right—you Wiltshirians do like to forget our history, if not erase it entirely."

Prince Draco stood abruptly to his feet so fast Hermione couldn't help but jump. "I won't stand by idly while you insult my kingdom, Ginevra."

Talk from the neighboring table quieted and Hermione noticed several of Ginevra's brothers tense.

Lord Harold rose to his feet and walked briskly to the prince's side. "We all know Lady Ginevra likes a good philosophical debate." He flashed her a mischievous grin and she looked away quickly but not before Hermione saw a gleam of fondness in her eyes. He turned back to face the prince. "Don't get offended so easily by our _most esteemed_ guests."

Being privy to the conversation in the Throne Room, Hermione knew Lord Harold's advice was more of a warning than anything else.

"Come on, Draco," Sir Theodore said, joining Lord Harold. "Let's get you a bit of fresh air."

Prince Draco strained against their grip and cast Hermione a dark look that made her shiver. "I should have done what Thomas did and found myself a docile witch."

Hermione wrinkled her nose and glared angrily at the prince who only laughed in return and let his friends lead him from the room, consoling him.

"Bloody Wanker," one of Ginevra's brothers called, the youngest by Hermione's best guess.

"That's my brother Ronald," Ginevra said, noticing Hermione's stare, "he and Lord Harold are best friends." Her eyes sparkled at the mention of Lord Harold. "The lesser lords have visited us far more frequently than the Wiltshire royals. Maybe things would be easier if they had visited more, instead of thinking they were so much better than us."

"Lady Ginevra, they don't think—"

"Pansy," Ginevra interrupted, "I'm not daft. I know exactly what _they_ think. Unfortunately for me, my father is of a similar mindset to King Lucius." A faintly sorrowful expression flashed across her face before she smiled brightly once more. "But anyone can be dissuaded, especially by someone who knows how to argue." She winked at Hermione. "I'm sorry, Hermione, you must think I'm positively atrocious. I haven't let you get a word in edgewise, have I?"

"You haven't let _anyone_ ," Pansy informed her bluntly.

"I hope Pansy has been welcoming to you." Ginevra shot Pansy a glare rife with accusation. "She can be a bit cliquey."

"She has been very welcoming," Hermione said quickly, feeling immediately embarrassed for Pansy.

"Wonderful," she lifted her wand and floated a tray of various assorted treats over to their table, "do try the lemon tarts. They are my favorite."

"Try a little bit of everything," the blond witch called Tracey added kindly. "I like it all."

"I'm watching my figure for the ball," Millicent announced.

"That's right!" The witch Ginevra had called Parvati clapped her hands gleefully. "I have this lovely little red number I'll be wearing."

"Red number?" Her twin sister Padma's head shot up. "I hope you aren't referring to my dress?"

The two sisters began arguing heatedly with each other and Ginevra pulled Hermione's attention away from them. "Don't worry about those two."

Pansy nodded in agreement. "They do like to argue."

"We want to hear about you. Do you like being a newlywed?" Ginevra inquired. "I imagine there's a dreadful amount of responsibilities, but you know, there are perks too." She wagged her eyebrows suggestively and Pansy grinned lecherously. "So how about it? I'm surprised the two of you can even stand to be separated this early on."

Hermione swallowed discreetly. "Perks?" She frowned. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean."

"You _know_." Pansy's eyes widened and she tilted her head. "Perks. Like from _doing the deed_."

Ginevra giggled. "Roasting the broomstick."

"Threading the needle."

Hermione stared blankly at the two women.

"Thomas has to be a good lay. I mean the man's _so intense_." Ginevra pressed her hands over her heart as if she were feeling faint. "Coupling with him ought to be—"

" _Coupling_?" Hermione paled and sat upright. Dear God! Was _that_ what they were talking about? And if so, why with such _affection_? And even more alarming, she wasn't sure how to answer them. She as the new bride was supposed to be the most experienced one, but she was in fact more likely to be the _least._ "Oh, you know," she forced her voice light in an attempt to play it off, "we don't like to talk about that sort of thing outside of the bedroom."

Pansy cast her eyes skyward. "Hermione is a bit of a prude."

Ginevra gave a sympathetic nod before her eyes took on a wicked sheen once more. "So you won't even tell us if he goes for hours?"

"Hours?" Hermione felt as if her blood supply had faltered. Why on earth would she wish for the ordeal to go on for hours? Did these women enjoy pain or something equally morbid? And even more alarming—would Thomas go _for hours_?

"Oh, stop it, Ginevra." Pansy slapped her playfully on the arm. "You're clearly scaring the girl."

Ginevra put her hands up in mock surrender. "I'm just trying to find out for _educational purposes_."

Both witches erupted in a fit of giggles.

Hermione could feel sweat culminating at her brow. The idea of Thomas making the act last longer than it needed to was shocking. Her eyes wondered longingly to the open balcony as she contemplated this new threat. Were all witches and wizards such _masochists_? She'd very much like to take a moment to gather her bearings.

Hermione bolted upright from her seat. "If you ladies will excuse me," she was pleased with the lack of a tremor in her voice, "I would just like to see the balcony for a moment."

Pansy made to get up. "I'll go with you."

"You don't need to. I shan't be long."

She needed some time apart from the women, although she had to admit—they were being so much nicer than she imagined they would. She had thought they would throw digs at her and make her the brunt of jokes if they didn't ignore her completely, but that simply hadn't been her experience so far. Though some were colder than others, Ginevra and Pansy were actually refreshing - she only need get used to their abrasiveness. It was delightful to hear a woman's opinion spoken so brazenly without fear of being reprimanded. She had initially thought Pansy didn't care for Ginevra - a result of her closeness with the prince - but the two actually had much in common and really there was no reason not to like each other. Hermione herself was merely content to watch and listen to them speak.

A gust of cool air hit her as she stepped out on the balcony. Really, it looked as if she'd wandered into a vast garden. There were trees and exotic plants and flowers everywhere as well as a small waterfall. The sound of the water falling into the pond drowned out the voices from inside the courtyard. Her curious eyes roved over the lush scenery until she found the ledge and peeked over. She was suddenly dizzy with how far up she was in the castle. Heights had always been an issue for her, and she was happy that Salazar Castle was considerably smaller than this one. She could actually see clouds floating by.

A tendril of panic threaded through her stomach, prompting her to step back and press her back against the flowery wall lest she get too close to the edge. Of course, her fear was silly considering that the space was quite large and the edge was a vast distance away. It was also highly likely these wizards had magical security in place to prevent such accidents. Still, she felt better against something solid.

Until a shadow fell over her.

"Little Duchess," a voice sang.

Hermione glanced up in surprise and shaded her eyes against the sun so she could see the face in front of her.

 _The prince!_

Her pulse throbbed at her temples.

"What are you doing away from your little watch dogs?" Prince Draco glanced to the right and then proceeded to reach out and grab her wrist tight enough to make her wince before pulling her inside a leafy alcove.

Hermione tensed and gave a yelp of surprise, but he only pulled more harshly before slamming her back against the wall and clamping her mouth shut with his other hand. Coming to her senses, she tried to yell for help but her voice was muffled. This was the Crown Prince - the very same who had felt _spurned_ \- and it stood to reason he would want to take revenge out on Thomas. Had she unwittingly provided him with a convenient opportunity to do so? She remembered vividly what Prince Draco was capable of, how he relished in inflicting pain on women.

"You sure do clean up nice… for a Mudblood commoner," he spat. His eyes roved over her hungrily. "I bet you've been keeping Thomas pleasantly occupied." His hand dropped to her hip where he gripped her tight enough to draw tears to her eyes. "You do realize there's nothing he has that I can't have also?"

In the shade of the alcove, the prince's face was heavily shadowed, but she could still make out the intensity of his cruel silver gaze. He looked rather like a petulant child, except far more dangerous and with a streak of determination that terrified her.

When he removed his hand from her mouth, she tried to appeal to him. "Please, Thomas will be angry—."

"Hush," he leaned ever closer, "I don't care what Thomas thinks. He can't touch me."

He slammed his mouth down on hers, trapping her with his lips, and then Hermione woke up from her state of paralyzed terror. She fought against him with every ounce of strength she could muster and worked desperately to break away from his kiss. Her ring finger burned at the _wrongness_ of it. She wasn't the prince's! She belonged to Thomas! Fierce protection seared in her chest and with it came a jolt of energy. The energy spread to her fingertips where she was pushing against the prince to no avail.

Until he suddenly jolted back as if shocked.

"What did you do?" His brows drew together in confusion while he simultaneously managed to look outraged. "You little commoner bitch, using magic on me!"

Hermione glanced at her hands, her mouth parting in shock. Had she really caused him to rear back just from the touch of her fingertips alone?

His expression turned sly as he quickly recovered. "It's a crime to assault a royal, you know. A very serious offense, actually. Not just for you, but your husband, as well."

Her eyes widened with renewed fear. Would he have them both arrested? Executed?

"I might forget about it…" His grey eyes skewered her. "If we try that again," he took a menacing step forward, "and this time you don't fight."

Hermione slumped in defeat as he reached her once more, and let her jaw fall slack as he caught her lips with his. The magic tingled inside her, but this time she ignored it and willed her body to stay still. The sooner she complied the sooner it would be over with and then he would leave her be. Her ring finger burned painfully now, as if it felt as violated as she herself did, but she was helpless to do anything about it. She screwed her eyes shut against what was happening, as if she could pretend to be somewhere else.

Prince Draco's hand caught the material of her dress at her right knee and then worked its way deftly up her thigh. She let out a whimper of anguish and attempted to prepare herself for the inevitable, but in the very next instant, he was gone.

She didn't feel his presence _at all_.

Slowly, she wrenched one eye open only to confirm he really was no longer standing in front of her. Her other eye snapped open and it was then that she noticed Thomas, and - dear God - she'd never seen him look so enraged since all the time she'd known him!

His face was twisted in an angry snarl and his eyes were cold and empty. He had the prince trained at the other end of his wand. Prince Draco was straightening to his feet as if he'd been catapulted through the air just seconds before, which he must have.

"Thomas!" She felt herself swoon and clutched her gown for support. "Be careful." She wanted to tell him it was a crime to assault a royal and he certainly looked on the verge of attacking. Didn't he himself not know such a rule? Perhaps his anger made him forget.

He looked at her with cool indifference before glancing back at Prince Draco and lowering his wand.

Prince Draco fixed his glare on Thomas. "You can hardly be upset with me." The prince adjusted the collar of his tunic. "You're the one that should keep better track of your _possessions_ , if they mean anything to you."

"Don't test me," Thomas seethed.

"Test you?" Prince Draco laughed loudly. "I'll make you regret interfering in my business." With the threat hanging in the air, the prince walked away as haughty as ever, but kept a healthy distance from Thomas as he went.

Hermione felt like she could finally breathe now that he was gone. Trembling, she turned her gaze back on Thomas, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"We're leaving," his voice was stiff and as cold as his posture.

She gave a stiff nod and tried to keep her voice from shaking. "Of course, I only need to say goodbye to Ginevra and Pansy so they don't wonder—."

"No." There was harsh finality in his voice. "We are leaving now."

He advanced on her so quickly she once more felt dizziness surge in her head. She recoiled when he grabbed her arm similarly to how the prince had, and began steering her to the edge of the garden-balcony.

"We have to pass by them anyway," she couldn't help but ramble. "To get to the Floos."

"We aren't going to the Floos."

Hermione blanched when they approached the raised ledge and Thomas snatched a broomstick that was leaning from its perch against a tree.

She eyed the broom warily and then glanced out towards the kingdom that looked so far away from her vantage point. "Thomas… I'm afraid of heights... _you know_."

The skirt of her dress wasn't terribly full but she still gasped in outrage when his intentions became clear. Her dress would ride up her legs and expose her ankles! He said nothing but only poised the broom between her legs and came around behind her to clutch the front of it so quickly she didn't have time to process what was happening. Not until the broom took off from the ground with a strong lurch forward, causing Hermione to slam back into him did she realize they were careening at an alarming speed through the air. She screamed and reached her hands out blindly to find his where they gripped the wood in front of her. She clamped onto his wrists with all her strength and it still wasn't enough to make her feel like she wouldn't fall to her imminent death. Even with his legs cradling her own, she felt as if she might slip any moment. Desperate pleas escaped her throat.

"Please… I'm frightened," she breathed, screwing her eyes shut and trembling twice as much as she had in the presence of the prince.

She wished the solid form behind her would comfort her in some way, but he may as well be an impenetrable fortress and he offered no assurances. The loss of her sight did nothing to quell the unease from the twists and turns he guided them in, nudging the broom faster without a care for his terrified wife.

It struck her that he could surely have introduced her to flying in a less foreboding fashion. Perhaps he was deliberately trying to scare her? The notion was enough to make her clamp her mouth shut, refusing to give the cruel man behind her the satisfaction of hearing the evidence of her fear.

It would seem she was surrounded by cruel men on all fronts.

The idea made her feel cold—as if ice had been packed in her veins and instead of blood pulsing—there was only frozen water crunching from one vessel to another.

She wrenched her eyes open, her rage practically eviscerating her fear. She watched as the kingdom spread out before them, growing larger the faster they went. They winded through trees and over buildings so that her surroundings blurred, but the wind on her face and neck kept the heated resolve burning in her eyes.

She barely noticed when they had crested a hill revealing Salazar Castle, not until Thomas slowed on his broom and circled around a large spire before nudging the broom in a sharp downward thrust that had her nails shredding into his wrists, at least she _hoped_. The idea of causing him pain pleased her immensely. He came to a stop on another balcony which she could only guess led to one of his rooms as it wasn't familiar to her. His feet scraped the ground and Hermione stumbled off of the broom as she tried to get her breath. She had just enough control to turn around and shoot Thomas a menacing look when she saw him advancing on her with all the rage of a wild beast.

Gasping, she shrank away, but his hand reached out to snag her by the thin sleeve of her dress which he ruthlessly tugged. Hermione let out an outraged cry and tried to turn her body so she could attack him with blows and punches of her own, but he held her a safe distance away from him.

"You vile, disgusting man," she spat. "Afraid to face me!"

She couldn't see him, only the room he dragged her into. Her normally observant eyes could hardly notice anything in the chamber bathed in hues of black, slate, and silver, but she noticed the large bed as it ran up to meet her. _That man!_ He'd thrown her on his bed. As if she could feel any angrier, her temper rose to heights it had never reached before.

Turning around so she could face her attacker, she was stunned again when he pounced on her, snatching her hands as if they were no threat to him and pinning them above her head. Her only weapons!

The malice in his eyes caused her heart to stutter, before she remembered that she was _far angrier._

"Afraid to face you?" His voice was deathly calm, and that was somehow more frightening than when he lost his temper and raised his voice. "Is that what you think?" He straddled her, effectively rendering her immobile, and she realized that she was in a hugely vulnerable position. "If you had any wit at all, you'd realize you're the one who needs to be afraid." His eyes hardly showed a spec of blue - _just black_ \- and Hermione briefly considered that he may be right—he was far more fearsome! "What I saw you… _doing_ ," he said the last word with a snarl, "if I'd known what a little actress I'd married."

"Actress?"

"Don't speak!" His hand curled around her neck and squeezed lightly in warning, and Hermione's eyes widened when she realized just how much she was at his mercy. "Unless I give you permission to, I don't want to hear a word from your treacherous mouth." She tried to deny his claim, but he only squeezed her tighter. "You played the innocent, and you played it quite well. You made me believe you were oblivious to the ways of men, but then I find you with that bastard's hand up your dress, you whimpering against him like you can't get enough. You played me for a fool."

Hermione made a desperate effort to shake her head, but she could only manage small movements. She saw nothing but hatred burning in his eyes.

"I'm going to let you speak now, but I caution you to choose your words wisely," he lifted his hand from her throat, "you won't be talking your way out of this one." He shook his head, as if deeply disappointed. "Playing your charms on me like you do everyone else."

She swallowed a couple of times and tried to think of the best thing she could say. Thomas thought she _encouraged_ the prince's advances? But she would never do that to him! How to make her husband see that? He now regarded her as the enemy. Damn her luck! Why did she ever insist on going outside alone in the first place? "Thomas," she began unsteadily, but her voice was raspy thanks to his hand on her throat, "it's not what you think!" She said in a rush because he was already clamping her mouth shut once more.

"I've heard enough." His lips curled in distaste. "I see how hard you can fight when you're angry. And you expect me to believe you would just stand there and take it without so much as a scratch in his direction?" His gaze turned dark. "I warned you to choose your words carefully."

Shaking her head again, she inwardly screamed. She wanted so badly to explain herself but he wouldn't let her! She hated the idea that he could think of her in such an unseemly fashion, but she had to admit—the scene was incriminating. If only he'd shown up moments earlier!

"Look at you," his dark eyes raked over her, leaving a heated trail on her skin. She grimaced at the disgust she saw there. Disgust mingled with… _lust._ "The way you did yourself up today. The hair. The sinful dress you're wearing. The rouge on your eyes and cheeks." His tongue darted over his lip. "If you were going to give it to him… present yourself like a prize for the taking… you'll have no qualms giving it to _me_."

Hermione had only a second to react before he crashed his mouth down against hers, taking her in a brutal kiss and hungrily devouring her. But where there was only revulsion when Prince Draco had kissed her in such away, her traitorous body responded to Thomas' kiss like a flame to tinder. His weight on top of her sent her sinking deeper into the bed, marveling at the exquisite pleasure she felt from his touch. She had to physically restrain herself from throwing caution to the wind and kissing him back with abandon.

Even so, she tried to fight against the heat racing through her veins and rapidly fogging her mind, but his skillful mouth demanded a reaction and forced her lips to move against his own. She was helpless but to participate and wanted badly to wind her hands around his neck. She settled instead for arching her chest against him. Seeming to take her enthusiasm as consent, she felt him smirk against her mouth before he pulled down the bodice of her gown, ripping her chemise down with it. She gasped in outrage, but she didn't have time to consider his actions before his lips caught hers again. Her dark and undeniably fearsome husband's presence swept over her with a nebulous fury that left her far too dazed to think. She could only kiss him back, and even then she had a difficult time keeping up.

His chainmail dug into the soft skin of her chest and it was then that she realized her breasts were bared to him. If she had the use of her hands, she'd cover herself. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he didn't stop kissing her - hard and demanding - and a small part of her wished he would let her go if not just so she could help him take his chainmail _off._ She of course forgot the existence of magic in this world or how skilled her husband was in wielding it, because the next minute his chest was bare and it was rubbing against her own, causing her to forget what was wrong and horrible about the entire situation. The urge to fight was still prevalent on her mind, and she didn't stop trying to wrench her hands away or break away from the kiss, but her enjoyment was increasing and the fact that fighting against him seemed to excite her should have alarmed her.

When his hands came up to wander over the mounds of her chest, thoughts rapidly fled her brain and she went lax in his arms. He kissed her harder, lacing his tongue through her mouth in an effort to dominate. His fingers flicked and pinched first one nipple, then the other, causing her to gasp in his mouth, but she found the sensation shot pleasure straight to her core and she couldn't help but squirm her legs.

He broke away and licked a trail along her neck before nipping her harshly. She arched up in surprise and he laughed darkly against her skin.

"Wanton," he said in that velvety voice that somehow sounded unbearably arousing, though she should hardly find enjoyment in what he was telling her. "Conniving little vixen... and all the while you were like _this_ … just begging to be claimed. If you wanted it rough," he bucked against her thigh and her eyes widened at the feel of the hard, hot ridge pressing into her. "You ought to have just told me. Do you really desire that pathetic excuse for a wizard over me?"

Hermione had trouble making sense of his words, but she liked hearing the sound of his voice when he spoke even if she suspected he was telling her very vile things. It made liquid pool low in her abdomen, more so even than his kisses and touches, though she guessed those were to blame as well.

His sinful hands found the skin of her calves and caught the edge of her dress with his thumbs. He dragged his hands all the way up to her thighs, taking care to rub her skin in his upwards ascent. His touch sent pleasurable tingles surging through her. She marveled at how good the skin on skin contact felt. If she wasn't so shaken from her ordeals that day, she might have felt a sense of foreboding over what he was doing, but she couldn't dredge up an ounce of concern, she could only _feel._

He leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth and she reared up, causing him to release his grip on her hands in order to stay her hips. She kept her hands above her head for several moments, writhing in bliss before realizing she had the freedom to use them again. Before she had thought of her hands as weapons, but now she thought of them as tools to feel _more_. To feel his luxuriant hair between her fingertips… to tug and pull in retaliation for what he'd done to Hokey's ruined hairstyle… to trace the lines of his chest… to squeeze the muscles in his shoulders… and finally to rest around his neck and bring him closer while delighting in the feel of his lips suckling her breasts which caused hot, wet desperation to spread between her legs.

"I'll make you pay," he hissed, his fingers creeping higher up the soft flesh of her inner thigh, "you'll regret ever casting your glance _his_ way, I swear it." She spread her legs wider and he nestled deeper, his fingers inching higher. "So responsive, like the sly little minx you always were. Open your eyes!" Her eyes snapped open obediently. "Don't imagine it's someone else." His touch was feather light, but it caused her to rear off of the bed when he grazed his fingers over the throbbing heat between her legs. His lips curled in a wicked smile, and he pressed into her firmer, and then his eyes fluttered shut. "So hot… scorching." He rubbed over a spot that caused a sharp moan to burst from her throat. Clenching his teeth, he plunged a finger inside her without warning. Hermione pressed against him and squeezed reflexively, marveling at the foreign sensation that caused her to go taut with desire. The incredible feeling made her smile in delight, but to her confusion Thomas was frowning.

"I fought him," she mumbled suddenly because she just remembered he left her with the freedom to speak, "fought him hard… but he threatened you." She didn't stop moving, because it felt _too good_.

"What?" His voice sounded different, gravelly somehow, and less sure.

"Hm?" she hummed politely. He had stilled inside her, but she found if she moved, it yielded the same pleasant result. The tense coil tightened low in her abdomen.

He fell forward, but blessedly his hand stayed put. "What did you say? About fighting?"

She furrowed her brows in concentration, finding it hard to shuffle through her thoughts. "Um…"

He withdrew his finger causing her to let out a whine of irritation.

"Fought who?" He was caging her again, his hands on either side of her face. The pleasure was ebbing. Her mind was clearing faster than she wanted it to, and then she remembered why she should be fighting.

"I fought the prince, you stubborn man," she said, supremely proud to have kept the tremble from her voice. "I shocked him with my magic, but he said I had committed a grave offense."

Thomas eyes widened, a stunned expression marring his beautiful face. "I don't believe you," he insisted, but she knew he did.

She shrugged, trying to keep the feelings of shame at bay when she thought about her compromising position on _his bed_ , her dress bunched up to her waist and only covering her middle. "Obviously I tried." She snorted. "I despise the prince… you know that."

A muscle twitched by his jaw. He regarded her strangely and it was such a sharp shift from what had transpired between them only seconds before. "He… threatened you?"

She pressed her eyes closed and willed her heart to stop beating out of her chest. It didn't matter what she said. He would always suspect her of treachery. It's how he was. The prince could Floo to their castle and admit guilt straight to Thomas' face and the man still wouldn't believe her. No matter what she said or did, he would always be suspicious of her. "What does it matter?" she snapped with all the frustration she felt. "You'll always wonder, won't you?"

He fell back on his hands, putting distance between them, and Hermione couldn't resist pulling her gown up to cover her chest. The shame was setting in and the desire between her legs only made her feel uncomfortable. She crossed them safely shut and bit back a whimper at the movement.

"There is a spell." He didn't look at her, almost refusing to do so. His eyes were trained on his discarded wand which lay beside them on the bed, never far from his reach. "If you allowed me to see your mind, I could discern for myself… see exactly what happened."

Irritation flared in her chest. If such a spell existed the entire time, why hadn't her troublesome husband offered to use it in the first place? Even though she couldn't think of a suitable answer for the life of her, she was still grateful to have such an option. Perhaps if he indeed saw the truth for himself, then he wouldn't constantly wonder of her treachery in the back of his mind. It was the perfect solution, really. She clutched the gown to her chest like a shield, and attempting to be brave, gave him a jerky nod.

He pressed his lips in a thin line and reached for his wand before leveling it at her head. She fought the urge to flinch as she faced the pale, yew wood. " _Legilimens_."

The foreign presence that charged through her mind made her want to wrench it swiftly out, but she tried not to, and remained passive as _he_ shuffled through the day's events and searched through her memories before finding the one she wanted desperately _not_ to think about. His angry magic settled down for a moment while he patiently watched her walk the garden before shrinking away in fear when the shadow of the prince fell over her. He watched with mounting rage as the prince spoke to her in a demeaning way before proceeding to manhandle her. He silently observed as she fought him with every fiber of strength she possessed before unconsciously calling on her magic to aid her. His rage was palpable by the time the prince used his manipulation tactics to deceive her. She could see it more clearly when she watched the events replay along with Thomas. He could sense her revulsion as she attempted to endure the horror being forced on her. By the time Thomas himself had entered the scene and he saw her reaction in the form of relief upon first seeing him which eventually evolved to dread, he withdrew abruptly from her mind.

She sat up panting, anchoring herself on the bed with one hand whilst the other clutched her gown to her chest. "How did you know where to find me?"

He ran a hand through his hair and still kept his eyes glued to the wall opposite her. "The vows… the markings on our ring fingers… they burn when you're in trouble. Reveals your location."

"Thomas," she started uneasily, "earlier… you stopped… why?"

She knew he understood what she was referring to, without making her spell it out for him. She wanted to know why he paused when he'd finally reached his destination, what made a man stop at the height of his passion? Despite her fear over such an act, Hermione had voiced no complaints to her husband, yet he'd pulled himself back just the same.

He swallowed hard. She knew because his adam's apple bobbed distractedly. "There's a…" he faltered, still not glancing her way, "barrier. I felt it."

"Barrier?"

"Why don't you go back to your rooms now?" He turned to face her and she was momentarily stunned by the intensity of his gaze as well as the abrupt shift in his tone.

He wanted her gone? But that was the last thing she wanted to do! Her husband seemed to be quite terrible at offering comfort when she needed it, but no matter—she would yank it from him just the same. "No!" she bit back, as equally riled as he appeared to be. "You can't just turn me away because it's easier."

"I can't?" he challenged.

"You can't leave me _like this_."

"Like _what_?" He crossed his arms over his bare chest and she tried not to let her eyes wander over his body brazenly. He was her husband, after all. Hers to look at.

" _Needing_ ," she answered truthfully, dropping on her knees and wrapping her arms around her chest. "It isn't fair to leave me feeling like this. I think you know it's not."

He looked away again. "I don't feel well."

"You don't feel well?" she repeated incredulously. "That hardly means I should suffer, does it?" She tugged on his arm insistently but he merely turned away from her. "It would be like saying sorry, you know." He froze. "I'm sure there's something you can do."

She didn't know much about these things and thought it may be in her best interest to _not flee_ the next time Pansy and Ginevra happened to want to speak about them, because clearly they knew a thing or two, but she did know she was on the cusp of something, and she was sure he _could_ make her feel content.

He was going to send her to her rooms and there she wouldn't be able to keep the coldness and the emptiness at bay any longer. The notion made her heart clench with sadness. She needed so many things from her husband - things she couldn't name herself - but she was sure he knew. He was going to lie to her - she just knew it! - it was there in the set of his jaw. But then his face fell slack and when he finally faced her, his eyes had narrowed in determination.

"Lie down," he instructed. "On your side and under the covers."

Feeling high from the satisfying taste of victory, she complied instantly, tucking herself under the covers and going as far as to kick off her already slipping gown. She now lie on her side only tangled up in her chemise. She heard Thomas sigh as he slid in next to her. He mumbled a soft _nox_ and the lights in the candelabra went out. Now only a sliver of light from the setting sun lit the area. He curled his hand around her waist and pressed his lips into the crook of her shoulder. She arched her neck and stretched her arm under her head, waiting with bated breath for his next set of instructions.

His hands skimmed along her side, careful not to rest anywhere long, much to her displeasure. He flicked a renegade curl from her neck and finally rested his hand on her shoulder, before proceeding to kiss her in that spot he had found which he by now knew caused her great pleasure. Slowly, the heat that had seemed to override her senses before invaded her body once more. She only wished he would be as firm as he had with her then.

Another sigh issued from his lips and tickled her skin. He trailed a hand down her body and rested it on her hip. She lay suspended in titillating anticipation, desperately hoping he would do more. She tried not to squirm as she waited patiently, but she couldn't shake the idea that he was teasing her, compared to how he'd acted moments ago. A breathy gasp wrenched itself from her throat.

It occurred to her that she may sound _wanton_ like he had accused her of being earlier, but she was too excited to fully care about the repercussions of her words. Besides, when he'd first accused her so it had only somehow spurred her desire on more. He had gone too far with her to take any steps back now. Unlike when the prince had put his hands on her, her husband's touch excited her and she desperately needed his comfort after all she'd endured.

Pouncing like she imagined a predator might, he pressed her tightly against him and she rejoiced in the fact that he'd grappled with control and finally given into her wishes. One hand threaded around her side to find and fondle her chest in that way that made her keen, the other descended to that spot between her legs that immediately caused the coil to string tight once more. Whatever had been holding him back before had seemed to crumble and she rejoiced in the fact that she could make her powerful husband bend to her will—at least in this instance. She currently desired nothing more but to feel the comfort of his touch and the fact that he was relenting to her wishes left her feeling heady with power as well as roused her desire.

The rough pad of his fingertips skimmed over her legs and around to the soft skin of her inner thigh under the chemise. She couldn't help but to twist her legs. Really—her entire body seemed to want to move. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, acutely aware of the her husband's teasing touch.

"My, but you are squirming, Wife." His tone was darker like before, but more in control. "Is there something you're trying to tell me?"

She swallowed convulsively, squeezing her legs against the hot desperation that spread between them—all thanks to the man behind her. "I don't know," she rasped.

"You _don't know_?" His voice was husky against her neck, if not dripping with mockery as his fingers inched higher. Her breath hitched. "How unfortunate. You were so demanding before. I think you'll need to tell me what you want from me just so there's no confusion."

Once more, she felt lulled by his words. His deep, velvety baritone wrapped around her and caused her skin to tingle. Her cheeks flamed crimson as she pressed one side of her face into the pillow, thankful that he couldn't see her. She'd found it easy to make demands of him before, but now her words were lodged somewhere in her throat. "Please…"

His tongue flicked out to taste her neck and she let out another gasp, unable to keep herself from moving in his grip, bidding his hands to trail higher. She'd always admired his long, dexterous fingers, and the idea of them touching her in such a manner would have previously sent fear seizing through her body, but the dread she should feel was replaced by palpable need. What was the man doing to her?

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as his fingers parted her flesh and lightly skimmed her. "Spread your legs for me," came the order. The burn between her thighs intensified as she hurried to comply, sure her face was as reddened as a tomato and again thankful for the darkness. "That's good… just like that." Her limbs felt heavy and the urge to shift them was impossible to ignore. Her mind went fuzzy as heat wrought havoc through her body.

The hand wrapped around her upper body moved over her chest expertly and she suddenly found herself assaulted by sensations on all fronts. His mouth on her neck… his hand on her breast… his other hand under her chemise… it was almost _too much._ Yet at the same time it wasn't enough. She wanted more of him, and marveled at how he could cause her to feel so… _unhinged_ … as if she were on the verge of spiraling out of control.

His fingertips whispered over her flesh. She arched her chest and pushed back her bum, feeling wetness pool in her abdomen at the feel of his hard flesh pressing into her. The hand at her chest curled around her waist and tightened, staying her movements. She pressed her legs together, hoping to trap his hand where it was.

"Wider still," he bit out, his tone now rougher.

She found it difficult to comply and a whimper tore from her throat. She was growing impatient of his teasing - somehow she knew he was teasing her - she wanted the fire she felt before when he was angry and barely in control. Now it seemed he'd found another way to exact vengeance, even if he had discovered she hadn't been in the wrong after all.

"More," the plea wrenched itself from her throat. "Please, Thomas."

"More of what?" His fingers brushed over a spot between the apex of her thighs which sent a thousand pleasurable sensations sparking through her abdomen. A sharp moan tore from her mouth as she twisted and brought her hands down to clench both of his wrists.

"More of you." Her voice was breathy and almost sounded like another person entirely, but Hermione couldn't be bothered to care. She clawed his wrist insistently, begging for some form of release to this madness. The sensations she felt were all foreign to her, but she wanted desperately to feel _more._ He simply could not leave her wanting this time.

"Do you feel how ready your body is for me, Wife?" He punctuated the question with another flick over that delightful spot between her legs. Her eyes screwed shut in response. "You were so afraid before… so unsure… but now you see… how ready you are to take me." One of his long fingers slid into her tight, hot channel and Hermione reared off of the bed, her eyes popping open in response. Thomas' grip tightened as he shushed her, bringing her back towards him. "It's all right, darling… this is what you want isn't it?" His finger pumped in and out slowly working in tandem with the thumb occasionally grazing that mysterious bundle of nerves. A coil of tension strung itself taut in the pit of her abdomen and her breaths turned to steady gasps. "This is what you need from me."

He held her tightly as she moved against him, bucking helplessly in his grip in a desperate attempt to seek more friction. A litany of _Thomas'_ left her throat, whimpering his name like a supplication. He trailed a line from her neck to her jaw until reaching the corner of her mouth and kissing her there, all the while working her skillfully. Hermione had never felt anything like it before—had never imagined that this was the sort of thing a husband could give to his wife.

Behind her he snapped his hips—a reminder of what truly awaited her, and the coil grew impossibly tighter. She felt it may surely pop and when such a thing happened she'd be sent careening into the wild unknown. Such a thought only made her _hungry_ for more, the fire inside roaring through her body. Her husband whispered things into her ear all while he moved inside her… moved behind her… but thoughts had long since fled her mind and she could only concentrate on the sound of his voice but not the words he was saying. His words sounded encouraging… an awful lot like praise… and somehow that incited her hunger even more.

His touch was tentative as he explored that secret part of her body. Every sensation, and every nerve ending she had seemed to narrow down to that single spot where his hand moved in scandalous, but delicious ways. Dear God—it was maddening! She would surely lose control thanks to the overwhelming onslaught of feelings wracking her body. A knot of pure, physical pleasure continued to grow inside her, building with an intensity that would surely burst. She was torn between wanting it to stop and never wanting it to stop.

"Please!" She found herself begging, but she didn't know for what. Her body tensed in anticipation as his thumb continued its steady pace of slow circles, his finger moving faster, edging her towards what she wasn't sure—maybe delirium. His thumb pressed harder and she gasped louder.

"Don't fight it," his voice was husky, "take your pleasure from me. Take it now."

The tingling between her legs intensified as if responding to his command and she tilted her hips into his touch. She started to pant as the fingers at her breast mimicked the movements of his thumb. The coil strung itself dangerously tighter and then he stroked her faster, driving her to the edge of reason and possibly insanity.

The tension building inside of her inevitably broke as she knew it was bound to, but she wasn't prepared for the result. She cried out and dug her nails into his wrists where she clung to him as a shuddering wave of heat wracked her body and caused her to feel weightless. Behind her, Thomas let out an anguished groan and continued working her as blissful rapture beyond her wildest imagination seared through her.

It was like she died. The explosion from the knot of desire residing deep inside her caused a white-hot burst of dizzying sensations to pound behind her eyes and bleat between her thighs.

He held her tightly through her pleasure, of which she was thankful, for she surely would have floated away otherwise.

When the waves calmed to gentle ripples, she settled back in his embrace boneless and without an ounce of energy, somewhat unsure of what had happened. She'd been so fearful of being intimate with her husband, but so far such intimacy only proved to be quite pleasurable. If she weren't a boneless heap of exhaustion, she would have insisted Thomas perform his marriage rights then and there and not waste another moment. She was starting to believe she'd been a fool to fear it so. As such, she could only relax against him, her eyes fluttering shut and her mind in a contented state she'd never felt before.

"That, darling," Thomas broke off to kiss her neck, "is what you desire from me, and if I have any say, I'll make you feel such a way every night."

She sighed happily at the prospect and let the wonderful thought take her away to a blissful and deep sleep.

 **~oOo*oOo~**


End file.
